SkullDuggery
by Mach56
Summary: The Institute of War dissolves, and the world erupts in its absence. Great warriors and statespeople vie for power, ruthlessly crushing opposition and all that stand in the crossfire. For the Du Couteau line to survive, its protege must have more than just guile and skill... Reviews Mandatory, Poll in Profile!
1. Habeas Corpus

Chapter 1:

* * *

Habeas Corpus

* * *

She was ready for this moment. She had been preparing for it before the message first entered the Du Couteau grounds, before she had stepped out of the shower, before she entered the shower, before she put twenty-eight sharp little blades through the bullseye as her morning practice, before she sat down to sleep the night before. She had anticipated it days before, weeks before, months before. She had readied herself for it when Keiran Darkwill fell within the chambers of the Noxian High Command, seen it in her mind the moment the news that Boram Darkwill had passed away, envisioned it the moment her father disappeared from Noxus. A thought presented itself, bubbling up from the recesses of her mind:

 _"If my father were here today, he would stand the undisputed successor to Darkwill. It is too great a coincidence to ignore that the two most powerful men in Noxus have been removed from their positions in so short a time."_

Were those the words that sealed her fate? Blind, misspoken words that had appealed to Keiran, the man with the strongest claim to the throne. And at the same time, those words sent a veiled threat to Swain, the up and coming general who was challenging Keiran for the position. All the while, Katarina's position was safely secured as a champion incorporated into the Institute of War, immune to political backlash and an authority in her own right.

But Keiran died, and soon the League followed suit, buckling and collapsing as conspiracy and doubt stripped away its credibility. As it passed, so did her precious diplomatic immunity. She gambled, and twice she had failed. Swain took power, and alongside the collapse of the Institute of War, with nations beginning to coalesce their forces, he started to strengthen his hold on Noxus and the High Command. His confidants took the highest posts throughout the hierarchy. Dissenters were silenced, then purged.

Two mistakes, and there was no third chance. It was only a matter of time before Swain had come for her. The messenger offered no kind words.

"Swain's orders, Katarina. I had warned you this would happen. Now either we make a run for it or he tears us apart one by one."

"Don't lecture me, Talon: I'm not blind to the quagmire. But we cannot just "make a break for it". He expects me in a quarter of an hour: We won't get out of the city, and the guards most likely have orders pertaining to this. One step off Skull Hill and we'll be apprehended or killed."

Talon wore his mask with a hue of impatience and frustration, a look that always seemed to say "He would have done better". This dull, brooding glare did not offer any mental respite and only served to irritate her further.

"And going would be a death sentence." He responded.

"If he wanted me dead he would put me in irons. No, this is a summons. Wake up: He is testing you as much as he is testing me. If this is the case then we may have a chance. We must leave. Now. The longer we make him wait, the less time we'll have in the long run."

Talon sighed as Katarina strode past him, out of the lobby, making straight for the door. Hinges creaked as she strode out into the morning mist, skimming over the cobblestone path towards the entrance of the Du Couteau estate.

The air was brisk, strangely thin, as always: The Du Coteau residence, as well as the Main Palace and the Upper District all sat nestled on the peak of a colossal, misshapen rock of a mountain. Formally, it was known as "The Victor's Throne" but most common Noxians referred to it as "Skull Hill", after the contours and shadows that painted the picture of a skull stretching up the North-Western face of the mountain, all the way up to the Main Palace, Katarina's destination. She was given fifteen minutes, but even with the time wasted on Talon's journey to deliver the message, she would arrive there ten minutes early. The Du Couteau household was a mere stone's throw away from the palace, and even though the fog still existed at the summit, the dark outline of Noxus's high command was still faintly visible, its pillars and arches leading skyward towards the man-made apex of The Victor's Throne. Her family was old, and honorable, throughout the ages the High Command became inseparable with the Du Couteau house, which provided warriors, generals, advisors and assassins unmatched in all of Valoran. The household Katarina lived in was a keepsake of the Du Couteau name, stretching back to the very roots of her lineage, to the very beginning of Noxus itself.

The entrance to the Palace was a dark square, its ornate steel doors facing outwards, as if arms welcoming in the masses, or to Katarina, a gaping maw swallowing all that came too close. The rock outcrop that jutted out above it was suspended by massive iron pillars, whose metal was supposedly supplied by the first legions of Noxus, their broken blades and shattered armor melted down to build the framework of the Main Palace. Other forms of steel were present, with ten guards loitering on each side of the door, inspecting all who entered or left. Katarina and Talon passed through unmolested, part of the benefit of having such a noble bloodline, and by being summoned by the Grand General of the High Command.

The initial chambers were large caverns with stalactites, stalagmites and other rough natural features, although no water dripped from the ancient features. The walls were smoothed, from the ceiling hung dark chandeliers holding crystals that shone a dry light down upon the weathered floor. These features were mere distractions, however, and Katarina spent little time wasting her attention on them as she moved from room to room, making her way to The Chamber.

More important details: Few people inhabited the rooms, but her presence always made an impression. People assessed her, albeit momentarily, before returning to their business. In the chambers of the Main Palace, that was a good of a hint as one could receive. She was a topic within the Palace. Did this spell doom? Or opportunity? Katarina was inclined to predict the former. Many people entered the Main Palace and never came out. She had first-hand experience to back up the fact.

It came no surprise to her that The Chamber was filled. The heart of the empire, where all business was brought up and executed, where all great politicians rose and fell. A single circle of light filled the center of the enormous room, and the walls were filled with seats, hewn from the rock. The Noxian elite, the bankers, the judicators, necromancers and technophiles resided in the room… and many more to fill in the gaps, rising stars in whatever field gave them the status to find the favor of the High Command or an elite of the Upper District. They sat on the balcony, on the stands, stood near corners and in groups, vibrating and moving as a mass, with multiple discussions and arguments fading in and out. However, like the room itself, they were mere distractions, no matter how dynamic they were. There were more important matters to address.

Darius was one. Standing at the edge of the circle of light, his back obscured in shadow while the rest of his figure was covered in the brightness. On the ground next to him rested his famous axe, with his right hand gripping its handle, keeping it from crashing to the ground. His presence spelled out that the matter at hand was important, one that Swain did not want to lose his grip on. The Grand General's authority was in full display with his right hand man on the scene.

Vladimir was another figure, well in the shade, almost resting upon a pillar that he stood next to. His bright white and red clothes set him apart from the rest of the dark and silvery crowd, along with the arrogance that he foolishly broadcasted without care. His attendance signified that what would happened in this session would be an amusement, something that was out of the ordinary.

Draven was opposite to Darius, standing outside of the circle of sun, arms crossed and a lazy complexion, carefree and admiring. As always, his eyes was towards the crowd, to the faces of the people, fixating on the ladies and glazing over the men. Katarina knew the look well, she had seen Draven where that look in the pit many times. It was his way of anticipating his audience, preparing for the show. His appearance meant there was to be an execution.

After Draven, the guards and figures standing close to the disk of light. The guards stood behind the people, indicating that the people were prisoners. The condemned? She recognized some, others not as well. The ones she did recognize made her all the more concerned, threatened and vulnerable.

Finally, the Grand General. He stood in his robes, slightly askew from the center of the circle, hands resting on his cane, his crow perched on his shoulder, stagnant like a statue. Most would mistake it for a prop, but Katarina could see the malignant black crimson glow in its eyes. He was the only one who was watching Katarina as she entered the grand arena, and his eyes caught her glare the moment she inspected him. Swain seemed to sense the crow's thoughts, and was the second person to assess her. Once Swain was sure he had her attention, he began to speak directly to her, in a voice that overcame the noise of the room.

"Katarina Du Couteau, thank you for being so quick to arrive. The matter at hand is important, crucial to Noxus and the strength of our state."

Katarina did not discard her façade, retaining her solemn, obedient demeanour as she immediately knelt to the ground, one fist connecting with the stone, and the other resting on her knee.

"I live to serve."

"And you will."

Swain looked towards the figures who lay concealed in the darkness. Without a word, the order was received. The guards pushed the figures into the limelight, each on the very edge of the shadow.

"Step forward." The Grand General commanded her.

Katarina stood up and stepped forward into the circle, with no guards hovering over her shoulder. It gave her a taste of hope, but she would not let her emotions betray her. Composed as ever, she waited for Swain to present his ultimatum.

And he did, beginning by addressing each of the figures who stood in the light with him.

"Darren of House Marse, Tori of House Frau, Pridge of the Bankers Union, Mark of the High Command, Katarina of House Du Couteau, and Tycho of House Aleks. All that have been named, stand in the light with me. All have been accused to high treason, conspiring against the High Command. "

As the crowd swelled with speculation and astonishment, Katarina reflected on the individuals who stood next to her, accused and standing on the threshold of death. All were stone-faced, although Tori appeared to have no blood left in her body, skin as white as a funeral shroud. Pridge held a look of fury, his eyes trained on the balconies, searching for someone. Darren and Mark were seasoned fighters, true Noxians. Katarina knew them well. They took their sentencing with blank faces, sullen but determined to retain control over their dignity. None of them uttered a noise.

Tycho, no matter how fearsome his namesake, was a child, close to manhood but still too thin and too soft of face. It was a morose thought: House Aleks was one of the first to be purged when Swain first took power, their fate had been all but sealed to Katarina. The house had been close to the Darkwill lineage, separated by blood alone. Their fate was obvious. Any Tycho's she once knew she considered dead, so young Tycho's presence was a simple ghost of a once honored house.

Swain continued.

"Our nation's security has never been so called into crisis, especially with such convoluted accusations. There is too much evidence to ignore, but the finger does not differentiate. All could be implicated, or there could just be one conspirator."

Katarina blocked out the frilly alibi, the annoying excuses and fancy sentence structures. Swain had hunches, no evidence. All he needed was the fact that everyone gathered in the circle were dissenters and protesters of Swain's power grab. Even if he did have any evidence of anything criminal, he no longer bothered to present evidence after the second wave of arrests. He was in control, and there was no justice that could be found in The Chamber. The evidence, the excuse for this show of force was meaningless to her. What mattered was the sentence.

"With this in mind, I cannot rightfully sentence these figures to simple execution. All have performed valiantly in their respective services, and have brought victory and honor to Noxus. For them to be cut loose with no chance at redemption would be immoral."

Katarina felt her inside face grin with a maniacal sort of indignity. The carrion eater calls shots on what is moral and what is not?

Alongside her bitter thoughts, the speech ended:

"And thus, I give them a chance at redemption. A duel to settle the score, and the one who emerges shall no longer be burdened with this accusation. All who die today will die honorably, with no stain to their name and legacy, and our nation will move beyond these trying times of cowardice and strife."

There was silence now, a pallor that was visible in the air, clinging to the mites and specks of dust that drifted perpetually downward from the light. There was the sound of swords and daggers being procured, as the prisoners were given their lifelines. Tori received her daggers, Pridge a mace, Darren a claymore, Tycho a shortsword, and Mark his scimitar. Katarina had brought her weapons, and she let her hands wrap around their respective hilts, and then pull them out of their scabbards.

"No magic allowed. Are the combatants prepared?"

The question was rhetorical, only to serve as a warning that at his word, Swain would end the lives of five, and toy with the fate of the sixth.

It was a blessing to Katarina, though. In the calm, she was able to focus on her breathing, letting the air caress the walls of her throat, bringing peace to her core. Katarina let the air go free, and with the vapor she expelled any vestiges of hesitation, any trace of weakness or sympathy that may have lingered within as she focused on her first target.

"Begin."

Pridge was the first to move, lashing straight out towards Mark, his closest opponent. Mark, a seasoned fighter, simply shrugged off the attack by taking a step back, but instead of responding, chose to focus on Darren instead with a lunge and a feint. Tori took advantage of the opening and lept at Pridge, daggers present. Tycho was a child, and as a child, he misinterpreted Tori's advance as a threat. He scrambled backwards, retreating to the edge of the light. A guard shoved him back in with a shove from his shield.

All of this, in the first seconds. The desperation was deep, Katarina could see, and so it would be relatively quick bloodbath. She was prepared to react, but as strange as it seemed no-one attempted to cross blades with her, intimidated by her presence. It garnered a sense of curiosity and amusement deep within, and so she patiently watched for an opportunity to present itself.

Pridge used his mace to keep Tori at bay, but his frustration was evident as he knew he fought a losing battle as long as he was on the defensive, with the assailant beginning to weave around his weapon and draw blood with her knives. Brash and determined, Pridge charged forward with initiative, reaching out at Tori with his left hand and his mace primed for a swing. Tori retreated to late, and despite her knives cutting deep into Pridge's outreached arm, he fell on top of her, forcing her into a wrestle.

Katarina became quite disinterested by their tussle at that point, with the victor decided, and instead began to assess Mark and his duel with Darren. The two Noxians played a very different dance, clashing blades whenever the opportunity presented itself. Darren, reserved, swung his massive blade only when Mark made an error in his positioning, never allowing the man to weave around and attack him from the side. Mark chose to deflect Darren's blows and tried to counter, clearly preoccupied in making sure that no-one else was going to try and sneak in an attempt on his life.

Katarina knew Mark was the most skilled, and his patience and clarity made him a hard target to kill. Darren would have to do then, since although he was younger and stronger than Mark, he was too caught up in his duel to recognize the threat she posed.

She began to walk in a semi-circle, skirting their conflict as she picked up on Darren's mannerisms. A strong, torso swing would be his reflex, and with a well-timed leap she would be able to slice at his throat, but before she could close the gap Tycho had foolishly intervened.

A foolish notion, hoping that Katarina was somehow absorbed and distracted, he lunged forward at her heart. Never would have nicked her skin, since she had recognized his attack before he even began to step forward. Katarina sidestepped the attack, momentarily confused with the lack of a follow-through. Confusion turned to disappointment, then to a sick form of pity when he parried her response, backing out of range. His shortsword remained momentarily over his right shoulder where he had deflected her shiv, then slowly turned as it crossed the center of his body. His retreat slowly continued, as if he was pleading her to choose another opponent. Someone screamed in the heat of the moment, but Katarina wasted no time on the distraction.

Though Katarina did not want their encounter to end, fate was on Tycho's side. Darren, losing patience, made a large swing, forcing Mark to leap back, almost directly between the fleeing Tycho and the advancing assassin. Katarina tensed, as did Mark, both of them anticipating the other to act, but by then Darren had already recovered and resumed his stance, aware of the new position he had put himself into, two duelists cutting into another fight. Tycho's eyes darted here and there, looking for someone else he could possibly surprise. He retreated to the farther reaches of the circle yet again, allowing Darren and Mark to relax and slowly move away from Katarina. Some would call it cowardice., but it was the intelligent decision.

Katarina decided to change targets. Pridge was struggling to get to his feet, nearly stumbling over Tori's body. His victory was achieved when he gouged Tori's eyes, who was most likely behind the cry of terror, but Pridge's triumph was empty. Although Tori was pinned down, she had managed to stab at Pridge's gut with her one free dagger. Bleeding, his defense was in jeopardy, and everyone in the chamber, save for maybe Tycho and Darren, knew it. Red faced, his eyes focused on Katarina as she approached, inhaling loudly as he prepared himself for one last stand.

It was a brash and determined move, leaping forward and taking the initiative as best he could, bloody left hand reaching out to pin her and his mace at the ready. Katarina had seen it coming miles away, and unlike Tori, she was not fearful of Pridge's strength. She ducked past his hand, and one of her daggers preemptively deflected the mace before it could gather momentum, as Katarina collided into Pridge with the other. In a second she lept back, yanking her blade out of Pridge's throat without any strain, and the blood spilled out like a cracked bottle of wine. Pridge nearly collapsed, his free hand reflexively rushing towards his throat, in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. By then, Katarina was already moving forward once more, exploiting his impulsive movements to end the encounter. Her blade stabbed through his eye-socket cleanly, while her other arm kept his mace at bay. Pridge, caught in a bind, with blood hemorrhaging by the second and a cranial injury too severe, convulsed and fell to the ground, defeated.

Somewhere in the darkness, someone let loose a holler. Katarina made a mental note regarding that voice, undoubtedly the person Pridge had been looking for beforehand.

That person's time would come.

Katarina stepped back, uninjured but soiled by Pridge's blood, re-assessing the fight once again. Mark's patience had finally paid off, with Darren lying in a pool of blood, lacking a head. Judging from the corpse, Darren had been nicked on his flank and had reacted too quickly, allowing Mark an opportunity to finally close the distance. Tycho quivered in the corner, shortsword at the ready, expecting the worse.

Unfortunately, Mark was unharmed by the clash with Darren, and his skill at the foreign weapon would be a hassle. Katarina knew that his stamina had been weakened, and she would easily take advantage of that. The standoff was interrupted with Mark squinting at Tycho in a peculiar fashion, and the kid began to face Katarina.

An alliance. Predictable. As suave as Mark was with counters and parries, he was still outmatched by Katarina, and both of them knew it. For the moment, she allowed the two to slowly advance, moving around to the edges of her periphery and try and squeeze her into the boundaries of the arena. However, after a certain distance Tycho's approach slowed, wary and unwilling to make the first move, instead hoping that Mark would.

Might as well hope for the sky to fall: Katarina had no qualms with the position she was in, and she was not going to give away initiative. As dangerous an alliance seemed, Tycho's inexperience was also Mark's weakness. It just required some finesse to exploit.

First, she swiped high above Tycho's head, teasing out a fearful swing of the sword. Mark jumped in to punish and prevent Katarina from taking advantage of Tycho's fear, but Katarina skipped out of his range and threw one of her daggers straight at his leg. It stuck, although Katarina felt the air slice down her cheek and down to her shoulder, a reminder of how close she had pulled the maneuver. Mark went down on his knee, in pain and taking the defensive. Katarina touched the ground, just within the boundary of light.

Tycho realized his error, but was too slow- as expected- to take advantage of Katarina's risky move. She was able to resume her assault on him, with her remaining shiv clash with his sword, every blow pushing him back across the battlefield, over Pridge's corpse. Katarina heard the clatter of metal as Mark ripped his blade out from his leg, and dropped low, swiping Pridge's bloodstained mace from the ground. While Tycho nearly stumbled over Tori's miserable little figure, Katarina twirled around to engage Mark for the last time, just as he brought down his scimitar.

Mark had been goaded by Katarina's faux preoccupation, and the lunge towards her gut missed by centimeters, testament to how close Katarina had allowed him to approach. Following her pivot, Katarina slammed the mace into Mark's elbow with the centrifugal force adding to the swing. The following crack and roar of pain was a bother that ended all too quickly as Katarina crept close to Mark despite his attempt to escape, and with her remaining dagger smoothly opened his throat. The blood spilled on the dusty-white canvass, sputtering out of the warrior ceaselessly, as he slowly kneeled to the ground and collapsed, face first.

Katarina let the mace rip out from the man's elbow before letting it fall to the ground, recovering her missing blade from the ground where Mark had dropped it. The warrior twitched, almost trying to stop her, but he remained relatively still. Both blades back in her possession, she turned to the last remaining threat.

Tycho was probably confused as to what his next step would be: He had done everything **_but_** fight in this grisly trial by combat. He would not get a chance to redeem himself. Katarina took it as practice, working on how to manipulate a short-sword in motion for the largest openings. Tycho put as much as he could into controlling his weapon, but it was a pointless struggle. Every attempt of his ended in another bloody wound as Katarina subjected him to a death by a hundred cuts.

Despite his miserable last stand, the end was even less glamorous. Bloody hands made his grip slip, fumble, and terror made Tycho disengage, hands open and in front of his face. Katarina just slipped the dagger past his ribs and into his heart, and as his face contorted in a visceral, intense fear. Part of her wanted to cut his catariod to quicken his descent into the bliss of unconsciousness, but it was unprofessional for someone to desecrate the defeated, add insult to injury. She let him sink and sputter to the ground, terrified and hopeless, all fight gone.

There was silence in the room, but everyone in it knew the battle had run its course. Katarina wasted no time in kneeling to the ground herself, bowing her head in admission towards Swain. She could sense a puddle of Tycho's blood slowly beginning to encircle one of her heels, and Swain stepped back into the arena, flanked by guards.

"And so the contest is at an end. Katarina, you honor has been proven to be unblemished and faithful to the High Command. We no longer require your audience."

"As you wish, General." Katarina replied with all of the sincerity she could muster. The stillness in the room created a surreal setting as she quietly stood up moved to the exit, blood moist and congealing on her clothes. Guards parted before her, silent yet judgmental, just like anyone else. The unease followed her like a shroud, smudging all of the details from her vision as she strode through the doors and out of the palace. However, she would not let mere feelings distract her: She saw how the people looked at her and the blood that splattered over her figure, measuring their reactions. Most simply avoided eye contact, a tell-tale sign of frustration: they were hoping that she would bite the dust in the duel... For good reason.

Quickly, out into the bright sunlight and then suddenly into the moody darkness of the mansion. She was drained, and was back to square one. Swain was satisfied by the offering of blood, but until he called on her or issued her an order, she was still consigned to this informal house arrest. Nobody came to greet her, a shred of good luck that Katarina took happily. She disappeared towards the sparring grounds, intent on keeping her skills polished, forgoing a shower or bath. She preferred the grime and crust anyways- the added sense of authenticity made it easier to focus.

* * *

Swain came for her in the dusk of the evening. She had just dressed after getting out of the shower, finished with her chores, forging knives and practicing. Talon and Cassiopeia were absent when she answered the door.

"Katarina Du Couteau?" The man in the center commanded, sword at the ready, flanked and backed up by at least six others. All wore obsidian-black chestplates, dark and fluid: the staple of the elite guard. The streak of steel at the centerpiece of the man's breastplate signified that they were the elite, the Palace Infantry.

"At your service, gentlemen." She responded calmly, her mind rather blank, unable to handle the thoughts that rushed towards her consciousness. Where was Cassiopeia? Was there a sign she had missed? What could she have done wrong?

 _Is this actually happening?_ Was the one thought she kept on repeating as she allowed the man to grab her by the shoulder and pull her out. The chains were restrictive, painful, as tough as the roughness of the men who jostled her into submission.

"To the Obsidian Gallery with you."

Katarina could only shake her head and smile. Of course Swain's word was rotten. Why did she even bother believing it? She surrendered without any protest, no longer expecting justice. It was gone the moment Swain had taken power. She calmly led the way out, past the gate and into the street, bracing herself for pain.

"Do not resist." The guard hissed as he yanked her chain, despite the fact that Katarina made no effort to hamper their march. But it didn't matter. They wanted to do this.

The first blow was clean through her cheek, forcing her to the ground, shattering her teeth. There was scarcely a sliver of laughter, but she knew they were smiling as they roughened her up for the dungeon, the first time they had ever subjugated a Du Couteau to their brand of justice. She curled up and did her best to withstand the kicks and the stomps, grinning to herself the bitter irony that this was how they would draw blood from her, glad that she was able to deny the Chamber the sight of her red ichor. She showed them no pain, no weakness, only her good humor in a reality where men would cry, piss and beg.

But she was mortal, and with one carefully planted blow to her nape, her vision swam, her arms faltered. Another steel-tipped toe to the temple, and she let the darkness take her, a bloody grin still gracing her lips, a mask that hid the fury deep within.

She had not expected this.

* * *

End Chapter 1


	2. Deal

Chapter 2:

* * *

Deal

* * *

It was an merciless torment, the monotony of the cell Katarina lay shackled in. The darkness was everything, inescapable and supremely boring. No light, no windows. The muggy air was borderline suffocating, and the stones that lined the walls all felt the same, rugged, uncomfortable, and somewhat oily.

So to pass the time, Katarina played with her loose tooth, one of the few that she still had, pushing it out of its groove and then pressing it back down, flashes of pain and discomfort filling the void. The trip to the castle had left its mark, as she could feel the scratch marks and bruises and cuts, the swollen eye and the cracked rib, all burning and bubbling underneath her skin. Injured as she was, it was nothing that magic and medicine couldn't heal - otherwise Katarina would have been toothless at least five times over. Her father did not raise an ounce of weakness in her, her pain tolerance was not to be underestimated... She still remembered the time when she had been caught celebrating her 100th successful mission: beaten senseless in order to instill a sense of vigilance. She was stupid to have approached her father with a poorly concealed smile, with alcohol in her veins. He saw right through her. Always did.

" _100 victories, a thousand… That does not absolve you from the fear of failure, nor should it weaken your tolerance for challenge." He growled at her, pinning her against the wall so that she would not crumble back down to the ground, so that he could stare her straight into her pupils._

" _ **Understand**_ _?"_

The thought twinkled and dissolved as quickly as it came, allowing her to reflect on the current predicament for the hundredth time. Swain had certainly toyed with her, testing her composure under pressure before flinging her into this rotten little hotel. It was unlike of him to gloat and play with his prey. The only thing she did know was this humble little abode was none other than the Obsidian Gallery, the most famous cell in all of Runeterra, the Noxian holding place of enemies of state or traitors to the highest degree. Supposedly a natural formation, prisoners were treated to the most beautiful assortment of black stones, a peaceful yet dour stay that ended in the execution. As far as she knew, nobody had entered the Gallery and had emerged unscathed and free. It was a purgatory for the execution, blackness and darkness and boredom.

The train of thought returned her yet again to the amusing contemplation of what form of execution she would be sentenced to. Of all of the forms the most distasteful she recognized would be death by the twirling axes of Draven. She could imagine the jeering crowds as Draven tossed her fake rubber daggers, daring her to resist. Hell, even fake daggers would be too risky, they would probably have to poison her or cut her tendons beforehand. Then again, death by The Cage would be just as dreary, especially with the sudden influx of crows- their murders infesting the city like a pestilence. She wondered how much they would peck away at her before the Kindred came. Impalement was an amusing afterthought and promised a rather quick end. Immolation, quartering, Singed's latest concoction, molten silver, molten iron, molten copper...

So there she dreamed, imagining every conceivable inglorious end, so absorbed and invested in her death that the sudden creak of the door took her by surprise.

She remained apathetic, unaffected, as the light of a single candle flickered into the room, flooding the dark chamber in a subdued glow. Swain's face appeared behind it, before turning around to address the other figure, who Katarina made out to be Darius. The axe-wielding general carried the keys in a tightly clenched fist, his eyes sharp, black and unreadable, signature scowl on display. Swain placed his hand on Darius's shoulder-plate and gave it a pat, a command that was received as Darius retreated from the cell, closing the door with restrained force, a decisive _clang…_

Silence yet again. Katarina spied a black mass crouching on Swain's shoulder, deducing that it was his crow companion, Beatrice. As Swain brought the candle above his head and stretched out to the center of the room to survey her form, she spied the bird's red, monstrous eyes glaring straight down at her. Unceasingly.

Swain did not rush himself, instead choosing to take in all of the details, appraising Katarina in benign indifference. The darkness on his shoulder shifted and quivered, grooming itself.

"You shouldn't have resisted, Katarina. You know the Guard does not let its prisoners walk on a loose leash."

The air in his voice was completely objective, unemotional, and practical. As if he had not given them the orders to get her a bit dirty. Katarina let the heavy air flow through her bloody nostrils, summoning her willpower and self-control. Swain was in command. She had to accept that.

Swain spoke again, either impatient or patronizing her.

"Do not give me indifference, miss. The matter at hand is most pressing for the two of us."

Swain bent down, placing the candle to his right, on a small indentation in the wall. The light seemed to glow from the walls, the darkness getting just a little brighter, and in this strange light she could see clearer now, although her vision was still weak and fuzzy from the concussion. She swallowed the urge to roll her eyes at Swain's remarks and responded as calmly as she could, as if she did not realize where she was being held. She opened her mouth, and felt the sting of the air as it swirled against the blood and lacerations in her mouth.

"The grounds for my arrest?"

"You and I both know the answer to that," Swain responded stoically, refusing Katarina the chance to know anything, "All that matters is what tomorrow shall bring."

"And what would that be?"

"Whatever you make it." Swain responded rather quickly, folding his hands in preparation, watching her closely, before explaining:

"You have put me in quite the dilemma, Katarina. I had thought the episode earlier today would have been lesson enough, but others disagreed. To my dismay, they had more than words to back up their claims, my faith in you wavered once more. They demanded death."

 _Bullshit_.

All of it, she was clean, as well as the Du Couteau house. Nobody had a speck of incriminating material that wasn't pure speculation. Regardless, Swain seemed to value these so-called advisors and their "honorable" information over her record. He could be lying straight through his teeth as well, just toying with her and daring her to disagree and seal her fate. Insulting, but she kept her lips sealed. Swain continued.

"Many are jealous of your estate, Miss Du Couteau. Many pine for the status that your House has achieve, convinced that as long as the Du Couteau line exists, no other family will be stronger, not even the Grand General's own house. They call you tyrants and usurpers of the throne, ruthlessly dispatching anyone who rivals your influence."

Katarina sniggered internally. That accusation she could not deny, although it was those families' fault for not being as skilled and professional as her heritage. On the outside, she responded with a shrug.

"Now, I know you. I know you and I are quite at odds, but we both have an interest in Noxus's prosperity. The Institute of War is gone, and without it war is on the horizon: Demacia has not been idle, amassing strength and forging alliances with Freljord, Piltover, and possibly Bandle City. Ionia is recovering from our last dalliance, and shedding their pacifism too quickly and too easily for comfort. Bilgewater is becoming impatient and aggressive with the latest chain of events caused by the strange weather on the sea, business with them is more erratic than it has ever been, with that accursed Pirate King of theirs missing. From the sands come stories of an emperor with an army of gold… So many threats to be put down. For that, I need the Du Couteau line. I need Marcus."

Katarina felt the rage suddenly surge forth. She rubbed her fingers together, reminding herself that her hands were still in shackles, chained to the ground. Reigning in her fury, she used her words quietly and calmly.

"I have not found him, Grand General."

"Yes, yes. You obviously blame me, it's not hard to reach that conclusion, any nitwit could have made that connection, the entire city already has," Swain remarked in an irritated, bitter tone, "All I could do was sit on my hands when your father disappeared. Nothing I could do would convince you, only dig me deeper into suspicion. I hoped you would not resort to treason, but I cannot blame you for it. Sadly, it has brought us both here."

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you." Katarina responded in a subtly vicious manner. Swain shrugged off the edge in her voice. Swain had been in the Du Couteau's crosshairs for a long while now, that was true, but his insistence that he had tangible evidence was more peculiar than irritating now.

"Don't doubt me. I have secured my position, but I do not want to lose you. I am willing to strike a deal."

Katarina grimaced, her tooth letting go a sharp pang of discomfort. The crow on Swain's shoulders let loose a strange murmur and quiver.

"What are the terms?"

Swain hissed it out, anger clouding his indifferent demeanour.

"Loyalty, damn it. I will make you head of the Crimson Elite. General. In return, I need your obedience, the trust that you had for Darkwill for the years you spent in his service. Nothing less than exemplary."

"And if I refuse, death."

"By Draven's Whirling Death. Yes."

Katarina couldn't hide it this time, Swain saw her skepticism and amusement.

"A strange deal, and an obvious answer, isn't it? An obvious trap, no?"

He began reaching into his pocket, pulling out an object sealed in a tattered piece of paper. He tossed it to her, and she caught it, feeling the weight of the object.

"Read."

Katarina took the paper in her restrained hands, unraveling the parcel. She took the sharp, heavy object within and weighed it in her hand, familiar to the touch.

Her father's knife. One of his concealed makes, meant for a silent kill. Personally crafted and sharpened. Swain explained as she scrutinized the weapon.

"Found on the back of a man 100 feet underwater, in Bilgewater. Just a month ago. Body had barely aged in the muck he was in."

Curious but not fooled, Katarina began to read the letter, every word and letter. To Swain's credit, it seemed like a familiar writing template her father used...

"How did you find this?" She asked, returning the letter.

"Traced the man back to his boat. That paper has his signature."

"Found in some dustbin?"

"No, we searched the boat, found that in the hold, folded and wedged between the ceiling planks. Must have fallen through some cracks, the boat was rather… worn."

Katarina nodded, maintaining composure. She checked once, twice: giving nothing away. Still, she felt as though her heartbeat would betray her. After a minute or two, she returned the items back to him along with her answer.

"I'm yours."

Swain stared into her eyes momentarily, then focused on his robe, rummaging a moment before producing a key.

"I now know why the Du Couteau line is so legendary: the resilience, the gumption. Noxus is lucky to have your house in their service. I promise you, we will find your father and bring Noxus to even greater heights."

Katarina smiled, but only after the chains that bound her fell to the black, slick floor did she actually believe the she would live to see tomorrow. The crow gave out a slithering little shriek, and the door to the cell opened moments after. Darius's unhappy face had returned.

They walked together, up the stairs, away from the darkness of the Palace dungeons and towards the inner chambers of the castle. Katarina skipped every other step, despite the pangs in her abdomen, her bruises and bones strained and battered.

"As my first command: clean yourself up before leaving the privacy of the High Commands chambers. Your promotion won't have ceremony, but we'll try and give it as much publicity as possible. Hopefully Marcus takes this as a sign that he is missed, not hunted."

"Sorry to say, but it's a long shot," Katarina remarked, more focused on Darius and processing the knowledge that he was included in the search, "My father is an excessively cautious man."

"Agreed. Still, I'd rather try with what I have at the moment. In regards to your first assignment, I would rather explain through a council appointment..."

"Understood."

"Then go." Swain commanded, ending the discussion as the group reached the top, entering the main corridors of the Palace. Katarina bowed before him, and with the conversation over, he turned and continued down the hall with Darius at his side.

Katarina wasted no time and set off to the infirmary, walking tall and proud despite pains that would make a commoner limp; Swain had no empathy for the wounded, a sentiment Katarina shared. Still, the unnatural friction that was occurring inside her with each step nearly brought her to grimace. As she presented herself to the healer and laid down on the operating table a bit of relief passed through her.

The healer only raised his eyebrows when he surveyed the damage, no words spoken. The healing process was warm and a tad uncomfortable, but with every broken piece snapping shivering back into where it belonged also gave the process a pleasurable tingle. Though sedentary, Katarina took the time to order her thoughts, and anticipate the rest of the day.

Swain had proven more ambitious and strategic than she had come close to predicting. Surely a powerful leader, but his intentions? Katarina could not say. That was reason enough to consider him a threat: No man would bring a political adversary to death's door twice and let them go twice without having a contingency. Either he was a genius or he was a fool.

And what of Talon, or Cass? She grinned at the thought of them cowering behind the walls of the mansion, expecting the dark news at any moment. It would be an amusing chat once she walked into the landing, she was sure. Katarina toyed around with a punchline she would use when she strode through the doorway, while absentmindedly running her tongue over her full set of teeth. She was used to the operating table and its procedure, to the point where the process had been completely memorized. It started with the heart, then out into the extremities, finishing with the teeth and the fingers. Of course, some things would never heal.

Once again, she got to her feet, this time without an ounce of discomfort. She thanked the professional with a nod and went on her way. The man, although visibly drained by the operation, managed to return the motion.

The warmly lit, calm vibe of the inner chambers lessened, darkening more and more until she strode down the pitch-black hallway that emptied into The Chamber. The room was sparsely populated by various high-level officials, and the bright circle in the center was unstained and polished from the deadly melee that occurred just a day beforehand. Particles and clouds of dust and dirt rose up from the ancient stone, creating mountains and valleys made of air and light. She strode right through, bisecting the circle, leaving turbulence and chaos in her wake as she passed through the cavernous forum, out to the entrance and the Upper District.

The dark night and misty morning were gone, replaced with the bright sun and its hord of shadows. The lack of tree cover was a nuisance in the city, but Katarina was more than happy to bask in the radiance and swelter. The breeze from the coast was strong, and with such a clear view she stood in momentary appreciation.

The Iron Adder wove its way around the perimeter of the city, a reminder of Noxus' history as a haven for raiders and men of war who wanted to make their claim on the lands of Runeterra. Out from the Iron Adder stretched fields of forests and rocky hills and formations, the source of fire and metal to fuel their ancestors expansion. As they grew in power and prestige, they built larger constructs at the base of their mountainous home. Katarina took note of the raucous Coliseum, also known as "The Pit", its distant roar audible to her trained ears. The Palisade of Bone encircled the city and formed part of the Coliseum's structure, faint and supposedly unscathed for more than ten centuries. The guess had some truth: Noxus never had much of a siege on the capital since the days of the 1st Rune War. Up the hill was the spiked, castle-like structure of the Archives, also known as "The Stone Cathedral". Stone piled on stone, buildings piled up the mountain, jumbled and seasoned like its inhabitants. The closest landmark to her, besides the main palace, was the silver Wall of Honor, or "The Silver Divide". Only the elite could pass through freely, the rest required permission, or conditions.

The sight refreshed the sleepless assassin. She remembered how Marcus would often dangled her over the edge of one of Skull Hills many drops, telling her to look out and spot the clothes on the clothesline, or count the guards patrolling the walls, miles below.

" _If I dropped you, would they try and catch you? Would they notice? Would they care?"_

" _No sir." She replied, paralyzed by fear but conditioned to respond._

" _Remember that, dear. You are better than all of them, they will obey you and let you walk all over them. But if you fall,_ _nobody_ _will save you."_

She hurried down to the manor. Its foreboding appearance, with its massive features made it look as royal as the palace itself. A single iron fence led to a single iron door, frugal and deceptively humble. Anyone who ever entered through these worn, ancient entrances quietly acquiesced their fate into the hands of the Du Couteau family. All bowed in the house of Du Couteau, and only when they stepped back into the streets of Noxus were they free yet again, masters of their own destiny.

For Katarina's chagrin, she rapped the door three times with an airy touch. For a moment, the door remained static, unflinching. The next moment, wide open, with a set of intense, green slits staring her down.

"Hey sis!" Katarina jovially announced, walking right by Cassiopeia into the foyer of the house, pointing her fingers towards Talon once she spied him sulking next to one of the pillars.

"Talon, how are ya doing? Could you grab me a cool drink, I've got the thirst."

She fell down on the nearest couch, propping her feet on the table across from her. Cassiopea reacted violently, closing the door in frustration before twisting around and approaching her in an aggravated manner. The metal frame quivered loudly as the door reverberated in its lock.

"Gods, Kat. **Not. Funny.** We are safe?"

"Yup, you can unpack your twenty varieties of lip balm now." Katarina joked.

"Stop it. Stop the bullshit. Explain yourself."

Katarina shrugged as she saw Talon approach with a pitcher of water. As adept as the man was, he couldn't ever take a joke. Katarina had no complaints though, after a night of blood oozing from her gums, the taste of water was sorely missed.

"Fine, best get a seat: it's a fun one."

There was a brief respite, a pause of contemplation and composure, before Katarina began. She had naught finished her third sentence before Cassiopeia broke in.

"The Obsidian Gallery? Really?"

"I'm not joking anymore."

"It's always been hard to tell." Cassiopeia responded sullenly.

Katarina continued, repeating the dialogue that occurred within the black and muggy crucible. Another unnecessary question broke into her train of thought:

"Does he plan on war or hope to avoid it?" Talon asked.

"I'm not sure," Katarina responded, "All we know is that he is aware of Noxus' precarious position. That's his reason for sparing me - so I can do his bidding."

"What a nice setting for an ultimatum though. Swain wanted to get you nervous." Cassiopeia added.

"More of a message," Katarina muttered, souring at the thought, "The inquisition yesterday and the late-night arrest - he knows he's in control and wants to show it off, acting fickle and unstable, but really it's just a kitten playing with a mouse. 'Just give me a reason', you see."

"That is no surprise," Cassiopeia acknowledged, "but you cannot act like you were never in mortal danger. This was more than a simple trick."

"Pretty sure it was just some fancy message to me." Katarina remarked calmly, impatient and eager to break the news about Marcus.

"Well, it looked **damn geniune** through my eyes," Cassiopeia hissed, "I could taste your blood in the air. I saw how they dragged you up the street."

Katarina raised a shoulder with a simple shrug, accepting her sister's remark. She was right, but Katarina did not want to dwell on how close she had gotten herself to the Kindred. Her jovial attitude had already melted away, and she took another sip of the cold water to refresh herself.

"What matters is that the deal is made. Obedience will preserve us, and give us room to breath."

"As long as he holds his end of the bargain," Talon observed quietly, "I fail to see how this was a deal."

"Oh, but it was," Katarina responded happily, gleeful of the upcoming reaction, "Swain has quite the offer for us."

"Do tell."

She told them, and the reactions were just as amusing as she imagined. Cassiopeia was the first to react, and violently too. Katarina was surprised no furniture was broken due to her lashing tail.

"Lies. He **liquidated** father, drove him **out** ," Cassiopeia spat, "I can understand that Noxus is under strain, but does he **really** need our father? Call me a skeptic."

Katarina nodded.

"My initial thoughts, dear sister."

"Why do you believe him?" Talon questioned.

"Because the letter _**is**_ Marcus's." Katarina explained, highlighting the nature of the note and how it was discovered.

Cassiopeia furrowed her brow, deep in thought.

"' _In the shadows, above all the filth. Weathered, unconventional, but professional.'_ Closest thing to a family motto we'll ever know, and the location of the note is too much of a coincidence."

"' _Messages mean much. But where, how, and why they are presented are just as important.'_ " Katarina rehearsed, "Another lesson dearest father would always teach. Whatever the note is, and whatever it means, it's the closest thing we have to a lead. Swain said he'd let me spearhead the effort..."

"He also absolved you of treason yesterday morning," Talon disagreed, "He is not to be counted on."

Katarina opened her hands in a display of exhaustion and silent agreement. Talon's doubtful attitude was going a bit too far for her liking.

"What matters the most is the tasks Swain will assign to each of us. We all now know where we'll end up if we piss him off in any way."

"Square one." Talon clarified.

Katarina gave him a slight frown of disapproval. She found herself in no mood for his belligerence after all that she had been through the past day.

"Better than the Obsidian Gallery. You know how boring it gets in there? I'd rather not have **either** of you find out."

With that, she hopped to her feet, sensing the fatigue and the itch of a body experiencing magical healing. Somehow, the phantom discomfort of her broken tooth remained. She stretched one of her shoulders.

"This talk is over."

Cassiopeia weaved her way out of the room, while Talon remained idle and thinking for a moment, as if anticipating a command or some other sort of sign. When Katarina gave him none, he walked off. Only when the room was vacated did Katarina leave, up the stairwell three steps at a time, to the landing, and to her private quarters.

Shedding her dirty clothes, she sat with her hand to her chin, watching the steam curl upwards from the spigot as the water filled the tub. As she settled into the burning liquid, feeling her muscles and skin shiver with new exposure, a weight was lifted, the stress and strain melting away. She loved the bath, the comfort of hot water and the smell of sweat leaving the body. Not that grime made her uncomfortable - her training made it clear that disgust was an alien emotion. It was the sense of accomplishment, of a day's work done well, that was pleasing to her. It was when her father let her bathe did she know that she had survived another session, pleased him and earned his good humor. Of course, in the beginning she received no warm kiss, just the frigid, ice-cold grasp of the Iron Adder, but as she grew, she earned her right to warmth. Today, she felt in the mood for a scalding cleanse.

As she sat, basking in the comfort, she thought of the future. The jobs she would have to do. Talon, Cassiopeia, Swain, the thoughts that they had. Freljord, Bandle City, places she would soon travel to.

Father. Mother. _What should I do?_

A flower of panic and confusion blossomed, only to be drowned out by the hot bath. No matter how hard she tried to contemplate, the questions and thoughts became harder and harder to grasp in the warm fog of the water and soap. She focused on the warmth, the feeling of cleanliness, a fleeting sensation of peace and quiet. Safe for another day. Eyes closed, she let the mask melt away, smiling ever so slightly as she lost consciousness.

* * *

End Chapter


	3. Marching Orders

Chapter 3:

* * *

Marching Orders

* * *

Katarina recalled how her father shaved her hair and dressed her as a servant boy. After a barrage of stern commands and questions, he reached the conclusion that she was not ready. It was a week after that episode when he was satisfied with Katarina's preparation, and with freshly shaven hair and disguise in place, she held an icy ceramic jug for him when he attended a meeting of the Grand General's Advisory Board. For a month she took in the atmosphere of the quiet room and absorbed every word, mannerism, and state of business: her father would quiz her in the coming weeks on what was discussed.

 _"You are my ace, Kat," He once confided to her with a sly curl in the corners of his mouth as his eyes glared at her, searching for the slightest hint of weakness, "Two minds are always better than one."_

A lie, her father never let a word drop from his mind. She was there only to learn about the craft of ruling a nation. Once she had made an error in one of his many tests, uncertain whether the financial minister made a profit on an enterprise to Bandle City. She guessed, and guessed wrongly. It wasn't a good week after that, a grueling routine and a set of tasks for Katarina to complete, all the while waking up before sunrise to hold the jar for her father.

However, the ordeal taught her much and so the first meetings as the head of the Crimson Elite were smooth and natural to her.

The stone table was the same as she remembered it, worn and rough, blotches and stains faded into a collage of grays. She sat three seats from the head, next to the head of Intelligence and next to the representative of Noxus' banks. Across from her sat Darius, the general of the Standard Army. They waited in relative silence, evenly spaced from one another, waiting for more arrivals. Eventually Swain entered, flanked by two Obsidian Guards and followed by his personal advisor. They sat on opposing ends of the table, which was filled the faces by the time they arrived.

"Thank you for being in attendance, Counsel," Swain began, "This is a critical meeting. As most of you know, Demacia has been proactively moving its forces forward after the collapse of the Institute of War. I believe that this is a maneuver to bide time for the construction of their wall. They are beginning to approach our border and the time for passivity has come to an end."

Swain opened his hand, as if expecting to be handed some item. The banker took up the silence, and Katarina knew his name: Reese.

"Where are the Demacian forces, exactly?"

"We have definite information that the core of their force has begun moving through the Marshes of Kaladoun." The intelligence leader responded. Katarina knew his name; Lorn.

There was a grumble from Reese, who asked another question, ignoring Lorn and addressing Swain directly.

"And we haven't engaged them? At this rate they'll be on Geddon Road and a couple days march from Noxus' peripheral cities!"

"Our forces are present but not exposing themselves to engagement. The plan in motion is to engage them in the flats."

Katarina knew that in a straight fight, Noxus would always win. It was a smart decision to force Demacia to take a head-on engagement.

"What is their number?" Another advisee asked. Katarina recognized her as well: Sharon, leader of the Palace Guard and Commander of the City Order. Not hard to decipher, with the insignia and the infamous obsidian chestplate she wore with pride. An immediate dislike already dwelled within Katarina's head as she recalled her battered frame hoveling in the streets of Noxus. She suppressed her urge to frown or glare, maintaining her mask of neutrality. Sharon barely took notice of her.

"20,000 men is their combined force, we estimate. The largest combat group is 10,000 men large, the rest of the army spread up and down the longitude."

Katarina faked her reaction as the rest of the board reacted in minor surprise. Only Darius, Lorn, Swain and his advisor appeared unaffected by the news. It wasn't hard to fake astonishment, though. 20,000 was impressive, especially when allowed to approach the middle of Valoran so easily, so unexpectedly.

"Lethargic response," the techmaturgist known as Hax stated, a frown on his face, "20,000 men within our borders is going to cause damage, Grand General, no matter how we repel them."

"True," Swain responded calmly, "However, the damage can be contained and marginalized if we are able to anticipate the direction of this Demacian host. And from this standpoint, it is clear that the goal of this force is to give Piltover some assurance in this storm of events."

"One tenth of Demacia's military is hardly an 'assurance'." Hax grumbled.

"I have spent some thought on the matter and have organized a suitable method for engagement. If the Demacians believe that they can skirt our border and exercise some bravado, they will lock themselves into an inevitable confrontation."

Swain raised his hand and the two guards acted, producing a parchment that covered the wall behind him. It was a day-old mapping of the Zuan and Piltoverian divide, with Piltover barely peeking into the top of the map, its border with Noxus centered.

"There are two major branches in this scenario. The first is if the Demacian forces are careful, which would mean they would take the backroads up through the Ironspike mountains, to the Nails and head straight towards Piltover."

Swain made no effort to point out the areas in the map, but Katarina had all but memorized most of the discovered world. The Nails was the residual terrain of the Ironspike Mountains, a rather slow route to Piltover. She could already see what Swain was getting at.

"If they take this route it would be more than easy to make use of the Geddon Road as a means of putting ourselves between Piltover and the Demacian army without any strain. Far from our actual borders, all advantages on our side of the field."

"And the second route?" Reese proposed.

"The siren song of the Geddon Road. If Demacia takes it, we can position ourselves clearly between their force and Piltover, forcing their hand. In the case of the first scenario, the Demacian host can disengage, at the cost of not reaching Piltover; if they take the Geddon Road they will be too deep in our sphere of influence. We will surround them, contain them, crush them. A few blades of Noxian grass may be squashed, Hax, but blood is an excellent supplement."

This time Swain took the moment to point out every movement that the Noxian forces would make to run the Demacian forces into a chokehold. By the drawings and measurements, Katarina could see it was an expertly primed trap: all geographical features, from forests to hills to brooks, were accounted for in the equation.

"This is a major chance for us: A chance to annihilate about a tenth of Demacia's trained fighting force and a commanding advantage over the northern hemisphere of Valoran. Piltover would no longer have the strength to put off our demands for recognition. If we do not jump to this opportunity, Demacia will have a clear presence in our half of the continent, and a dagger lingering just beyond our territories."

Swain let the subject dwindle in the air, searching for any reservations or disagreements with his proposed course of action. Sure, some questions regarding numbers were involved, but there wasn't much dissent.

And with that, the talk of war ended as Swain began to interrogate the council on other matters, from taxes to rules of law to the latest actions of the Noxian elite. War was just another policy for the Advisory Board, just another fact of life for any Noxian. She listened to the rest of the discussion as silent as Darius, patient and following the discussion closely. Often she found herself glancing at Swain's mysterious advisor, hooded and busy taking meticulous notes regarding the proceedings, with speed and silence. The silence was unnerving.

After the dry talks regarding city order, economic matters and shipping disputes with Ionia and Bilgewater, Swain brought the meeting to an end.

"...The military stays."

The rest of the council shuffled out. Katarina's waning focus now returned as Swain organized his thoughts. The grand general gestured to his advisor, who nodded, cowl drooping as the person stood up with quill and parchment, exiting the room. Silence returned.

"Now that the elite is informed, we may discuss the more specific intricacies of this operation. Lorn, could you bring the commanders up to speed."

Lorn cleared his throat, extending his hands out to the center of the table, taking reigns of the conversation.

"The Demacian army is formidable: Their ranks are bolstered by the Golden Eagle, the Mighty Aegis, and the Dauntless Vanguard. The best archers, spell-weavers and swordsmen regiments Demacia can throw at us. That's not to mention Cynthia's Needle and the Sunbeam battery. With such a composite force of heavy artillery, light artillery, sword and shield, magic and calvary, our foe has a multitude of maneuvers up its sleeve."

"Gods, now that sounds more like an invasion force," Sharon said with a frown.

"No matter how powerful this army is, it must be said that the legions in this force are the best Demacia has to offer," Swain remarked, "As well as the first major engagement since Kalamanda."

"Then any inkling of weakness is unacceptable," Darius frowned, "Yet corralling the Demacian forces into an engagement will thin the standard army's rank. It's possible that we will end up fighting man to man."

"Which is why all three of you will be present on the field, alongside Draven, Singed and Urgot. Other powerful fighters from our elite may also be recruited: Vladimir is one example. If Demacia has sent us their best, and we will respond in kind. The Crimson Elite will lead the vanguard, the Axe and the Blood Iron will comprise the core of our force. The Obsidian Guard will partake and match the Dauntless Vanguard."

Sharon disagreed. The first disagreement of the entire meeting, Katarina guessed.

"It would be better if we supported the flanks, Grand General, and increase maneuverability and in preparation to strike deep into their flanks."

"The Axe can handle the Dauntless," Darius agreed, "Is Crownguard a part of the force?"

 _Dumb question._

"Garen is always present wherever the Dauntless tread," Lorn responded, "It's his company."

Swain shook his head.

"The Axe is better suited for matching other regiments, like the Mighty Aegis or Cynthia's Needle. Though I understand the worth of having a few black greaves controlling our flanks and spearheading our offensive. You may control that force while Katarina contains the Dauntless with the rest of the Obsidian Guard."

Katarina perked up at her name, overjoyed to finally have a say in the discussion, and more than happy to witness Sharon's frustration at the realization that she would be the one to lead her force. It was also comforting to hear that Swain realized how important she was to this operation.

"General-" Sharon began.

Darius cut in.

"Katarina doesn't need to lead the core. Let her take lead of the Axe, or work at exposing the flanks."

Katarina never felt happier to open her mouth to speak. After having it closed shut for the majority of the meeting, feeling the cool air grace her teeth and the roof of her mouth was divine.

"I alone can match Garen. It would be dangerous to allow him to freely operate in the line of scrimmage."

Darius rolled his eyes, opening his hands in irritation.

"Are we still going by Darkwill's rules of engagement? Times change, strategies change and evolve…"

The name Darkwill surfacing was frightening for Katarina, and her joy to argue with Darius quickly diminished, fearful of being caught defending Darkwill's legacy.

Swain spoke before she had to.

"Whoever leads matters little. All that matters is that the Dauntless company is kept under control. They have shown a rather adept in thriving off of chaos, and we cannot give them such liberty. We will agree on where our generals will be stationed at a later point: right now, we have concluded that the Obsidian Guard will engage the Dauntless Vanguard, _agreed_?"

The time for disagreement had passed. Katarina acquiesced along with the rest of the military branch, with Sharon suffered over the fact that her force would bear the brunt of Demacia's wrath.

"Although the make of our force has been decided, our tactics are subject to change: the last briefings and objectives will occur hours before the engagement. Sharon and Darius, rally your forces, pick your companies, and start mobilization towards Zuan and the border within two days time. Lorn will coordinate all of your movements. Katarina, you have business with Lorn as well. Dismissed."

A disheartened Sharon left first, followed by a petulant Darius. Swain remained in the room, hand to chin, focused on other matters. Lorn gave Katarina an excited, mischievous smile, and Katarina couldn't help but return the favor as they left together.

"And what shall we be discussing today?"

* * *

End Chapter


	4. The Black Chamber

Chapter 4:

* * *

The Black Chamber

* * *

"This way, please." Lorn said with proud respect, with one hand outstretched towards a hallway. He led her through the castle, the grays and browns of the main palace all bled together as they winded down and east. Downward and eastward...

They ended up in a chamber entirely comprised of black asphalt and black rock, a sign of Skull Hill's volcanic past. It was a strict rectangle, sharply cut and as wide as the Coliseum's ring. Tables and chairs were nailed down, with stacks of papers and mechanical devices neatly placed. About four people were working on each station, with small dividers between them. No noise except for the mechanical clicks, the scratching of writing, and hushed voices comparing facts. The source of light was the wall, or the lack of one, a massive window that took in the morning sun and presented a clear view of the eastern half of the Noxian Capital, three massive pillars supporting the ceiling. There was no ledge, no railing. It was part of The Fall, the enormous cliff face notorious for its "accidents" that occurred throughout Noxus's history. It stretched all the way up to the upper rooms of the Main Palace, to the Grand General's own office. This was the last window down the sheer drop, and it was often said that the members of this chamber were the first to learn the identity and break the news of who had met their end to the famous cliff face.

This was the Black Chamber.

"Welcome home!" Lorn announced warmly, "How long has it been?"

"About… 8 years." Katarina reflected, sharing the sentiment. About 8 years, 7 months and-

"8 Years, 7 months and 16 days just about an hour ago since you last worked in here," Lorn responded in a witty manner, unaware of Katarina's thought process, "You took a long time to return, but the Black Chamber never forgets its workers."

"So it has..." Katarina responded with a smile, suddenly comfortable with the chief of Intelligence. He was looking to surprise, to humor, to appeal. A sly man, but much less complicated and threatening than Swain, an intellectual looking for comradery, not a statesman looking for power.

The Black Chamber was the core of Noxus's unrivaled intelligence agency. All messages, plans, and strategies filtered through its chamber, where the head of intelligence and his or her network secured it in a cipher, stowed it on a transport, and whisked it away to its desired location. Not once a message exiting out of this chamber ever get broken. Yet that was only one of the vital functions the Black Chamber supported. The second function was code-breaking, with cryptanalysts and codebreakers working around the clock to decipher and break into communications from all around the globe. All discoverable codes were scrutinized relentlessly until they were exposed.

It was Katarina's first job. As herself. At the ripe age of 12 she was allowed to let her hair grow out and sprinted to the busy chamber to work and learn the trade. She learned basic math through organizing code, the higher forms of math through frequency analysis and the study of algorithmic ciphers. Four years she toiled and studied in these chambers, until she graduated to become an field operative instead of analyst.

She remembered Lorn as well, he worked hard on the opposite end of the chamber, engrossed in the creation of newer, more powerful encryptions for Noxus. His rise to commanding intelligence officer was completed with Swain's changing of the guard, although Lorn was someone who, as far as Katarina could see, earned his place through hard work. That did not mean he was to be trusted, but at least he was respectable.

"Too long, I'd say. I remember you: You were quite the cryptologist, with a knack for Demacian codes. Quite difficult."

"They were predictable." Katarina replied matter-of-factly, although humored by the compliment. Demacia had learnt its lesson from being at the short end of the stick when it came to security, and after countless campaigns sabotaged by Noxian intelligence, the state had developed a counter-intelligence branch that posed the hardest challenge for Noxus. Despite how seriously the Demacians worked and ciphers, they had a tendency to follow protocol too well: Often their letters started off with a formal introduction, followed by their location and the weather. They ended with some glorious praise to the king, the royal family, or whatever grand formality that they could think of. No matter how complex a code, predictability and pattern were weaknesses, and Demacian politeness was often their downfall .

"Well, we sorely need more people like you. As you can well imagine, we're busy with Demacian communications at the moment. A new cipher, a whole new key to discover…" Lorn shrugged, "...ah, but that is the struggle, as we know."

"Yes," Katarina responded, starting to tire with the small talk, "As it always will be. But I know that the Black Chamber will only thrive and continue to prove its dominance: Codes can only last for so long."

Lorn nodded, happy to hear the compliment.

"Of course. If you would follow me to my office."

The office was visible to the entire chamber, a display of trust and openness that proved ironic considering the work was designed in secrecy, for secrecy. The only sign of its importance was the barely visible Noxian crest made of black iron that hung on the wall behind Lorn's chair.

"Take a seat."

Katarina complied.

"Now, Swain likes to keep things rather trenchant so I won't dally; you are to infiltrate Piltover and eliminate this subject. The time allotted is the next week, before the battle."

Lorn pushed forward a sheet of paper, and Katarina took a deep look at the picture. It was grabbed from the Piltoverian hex-tech database, a stout man with a chipper grin.

"He's a quartermaster and mechanic of the Piltoverian Police Department, and the target's his creation, the S.S. Quicksilver. The ship is an aerial artillery platform that could be used against our forces during our upcoming encounter with the Demacian army. Not only would we like this machine destroyed, we'd also want this man to be eliminated, as well as any information on similar projects."

"In what order." Katarina asked.

"Machine is the objective, its creator only if possible. As usual, all forms of information that you may acquire from the operation would be bonuses. Secondary to the targets, of course."

"Any details?"

Lorn tossed her the rest of the folder.

"You may keep it if you want, you have the clearance."

Katarina snatched the documents up and did a quick skim. She did take note that Talon did do some preliminary research, as well as Natasha and Joaquim. These were not low-tier operatives, so the information here was certainly solid.

"Alright then. I'll have this done quick. You can tell Swain that."

She made a motion to rise but of course Lorn motioned for her to stay. She saw his face take a turn for the worst. He wasn't going to enjoy what he would say.

"Swain also would like you to… mentor someone."

 _Might as well ask me to wrestle a Mourn Shark._

"Du Couteau tradition-" She began gently, but Lorn's hand stopped her with the universal symbol. Stop.

"Swain is insistent. Nothing long term, just a momentary bother. A parasite, really."

Katarina sighed, letting her body relax and hiding her frustration.

"I understand. Who do I have the honor of babysitting?"

"Crispin."

"And how shall I contact him?"

"I can relay the message."

Lorn made a mistake, it was a vague answer. Katarina's suspicions were aroused.

"You know this person?"

"Yes."

Katarina opened her hands, expecting an explanation. Feeble-mindedly, Lorn let the truth out.

"...He's my son."

Katarina's eyes were focused to the point where she swore she was able to see the lone bead of sweat seep out from Lorn's pores as he turned away to shuffle some papers mindlessly. There went her respect for the Head of Intelligence, and both of them knew it.

"Not my idea, mind you," Lorn added quickly, hastily, "He was granted a position in the Obsidian Guard-"

 _Of course, you bent over for Swain and his crow when he overthrew Darkwill, snuggled up reaaaaaal close to him and got your son into the best position for entering the elite, as well as commanding position over Noxian Intelligence. Not helping your case, Lorn._

"-And Swain deemed it proper that he needed some, some assistance in fitting into the company."

 _And your son is a fucking sham of a fighter as well. Bravo._

"Brilliant." Katarina muttered out loud, finishing her spike of anger. Confusion flashed over Lorn's face, as well as a hint of color.

"Honestly, I was looking for my son to work with me, in the black chamber. Grow up to be an operative, like you, like the Crimson Elite. The Obsidian Guard was the only position that he qualified for. I had no idea he would ask you..."

Katarina shut her mouth and thought. His son was likely to be in the front line, against the Dauntless Vanguard. Seemed very "Swain" of the Grand General to take Lorn's child and pitch him into the heat of battle…

Well, she didn't really care about that, now did she?

"Lorn, are you fucking serious?" She whispered, venom in her eyes, "Get the boy a tutor, a trainer, a gladiator. Go ask Darius or Sharon or Draven if you're so desperate. Why go to me? You know damn well the Du Couteau don't fucking waltz around, wasting time to teach kids how to swing and stab."

Lorn blinked, trying to find something to say. Trying to find the right words, put the pieces together to make a coherent string. Katarina didn't give him respite, standing up and glaring down at him.

"I follow my orders. Tell your child to be ready to leave at the end of twilight."

"As you wish."

It was all Lorn could say.

* * *

"...I don't see why it's that much of a deal." Cassiopeia stated with a shrug,"Father sparred with people outside the Du Couteau House."

"He _toyed_ with them." Katarina corrected hotly, twisting a knife into the wooden dummy. A whole day had passed, and now Cassiopeia had returned from her shopping and gossiping, Talon back from his work in the barracks and the various Crimson Elite rendezvous. Katarina was happy to vent to her sister about the events as she practiced her lunges, and after all of the studying on the Piltoverian operation gave her mind a dullness that she wanted to purge through exercise. The sparring ground that they stood in were a chamber, enclosed on all sides with no windows, part of the Du Couteau complex. The manor did have spaces that existed out in the fresh air, but other technical training sessions were kept confined, secret. While Katarina danced and swung her swords, Talon quietly sharpened an assortment of blades on the side of the room, focused and aloof from the chat.

"So treat it as such," Cassiopeia replied, lax as always, "I would have thought that you enjoy these sort of amusements."

"What do you know of the boy." Katarina said, preferring to change the subject than continue the tiresome dialogue.

Cassiopeia shrugged.

"He's nothing special. A bastard child, the whisper is. It has been said Lorn hasn't been with the opposite sex the moment he started fiddling with numbers. Lorn himself isn't much of a topic either, so all I can tell you is the kid is a typical fighter. Fodder."

Katarina nodded, a bit happier.

"So, harmless. He may report back to his father, but he is probably inexperienced and skull-headed as any other Black Boot. Not a threat."

"Lets not be so hasty," Cassiopeia said, "His father might have put in a good word for you when Swain was putting you in the Gallery."

"Or he could be Swain's most trusted advisor… I deal with certainties, not " _possiblys_ " or " _probablys_ ". I don't care if he was the one who thought of this silly little mentoring stunt, or if Swain came up with it. All I know is that once his bastard is out of my hands, he's out. As long as we aren't put at jeopardy... That's all that matters… Talon, what the hell are you doing to those blades?"

Talon stopped, looking up to Katarina in a rather dull manner. He had been working on the blade for far too long, Katarina could tell.

"I was… thinking about trying a different width for the edge."

"You are more than welcome to experiment," Katarina scoffed, "but best try it on your own weapons before throwing me out into the field with such delicates. The rest of the Elite have been given their commands?"

Talon nodded, "Of course they were. And sorry for the oversight, I'll dispose of them..."

"No- Don't throw them away, keep them here so I can test them at a later date. Just not on the field, like I said." Katarina butted in has Talon almost threw one of the knives into the small smelting oven on the far end of the wall. Talon gave a strained sigh recovered it.

Katarina recognized Talon's sulkiness and acted on it, slicing through the wooden puppet with a single swipe, only an inch of wood keeping the head attached.

"Talon, you were a street urchin. You were brought into the family, to be a servant, slave, husband, whatever father had planned for you. This kid, bastard or not, has a father who is the head of the Black Chamber. He is not you: Two completely different situations."

"So you're just going to let him die without any help? Not even going to try?"

Katarina began to think dark thoughts, hateful oily words that could slip out so easily. She held back her frustration with Talon's insubordination and straight stupidity.

"Of course not. I'll try, I'm just not going to give a damn whether he listens to me or not. I don't have the patience for someone who might interfere with this operation. You know this more than anyone."

Talon stared, then in a subdued manner, slowly nodded as he turned away to work on her weapons. Katarina sighed and began to juggle her knives as she took a number of paces away from the dummy, trying to think.

"You're nervous?" Cassiopeia asked, to Katarina's amusement. Focusing on each sharp point, she added a bit of spin to each, some forwards, some sideways, some backwards.

"Nervous about what?" Katarina said as she felt magic flow through her nerves.

"You never juggle unless you're nervous. Whenever you're thinking too much you always have to multitask. A proper clown."

Katarina threw her first blade with a snap of the wrist. It disappeared inches away from her hand, before phasing into existence to the right of the dummy, slamming into its shoulder. Cass was right, she was preoccupied, thinking about that bitch of a Obsidian Guard, going off and putting the entire war in jeopardy with her inflated ego. Not to mention Darius and his stupid, muscle-minded brain thinking he could take on Garen. Was she the only warrior with smarts on Skull Hill? But who was she to complain about someone else taking on Garen: she hadn't been successful all of these years. But still...

"Not a clown." She responded to Cassiopeia, not wanting to share her frustration.

"I can understand, Katarina, but it's a rather simple task. Assassinations are your forte. I can't understand why you're so riled up."

The next one Katarina spun and grabbed hold of half-way through her spin, transferring the momentum as she sent it barreling towards the maw of the smelting oven. The moment it entered the oven it reappeared at the ground, flying straight up and embedding itself in the dummy's stomach in a sickening angle.

"Failure isn't an option. Lots of things to keep track of."

"It never has been. You've dealt with trickier situations before."

The third knife was thrown to the ground. It appeared from above and embedded itself in the dummy's right calf. Katarina strained her brow, trying to explain herself without sounding like a fool, without letting anger take hold.

"Haven't done operative work in a while. Piltover has new security systems."

Cassiopeia was ambivalent.

"You'll be fine. Piltover's security systems are exploitable. A freaking pony-tailed screwball packing a chain-gun and a stylized rocket launcher can break them, so can you."

Katarina toyed with the last two knives, swiping some smaller shivs from her belt and peppering the dummy with a single movement.

"I might not face off against Garen."

The dissatisfaction was in her voice now, and her frustration broke loose, and she decided to take it out on her sister. She let fly with the remaining two daggers. One flew straight towards Cassiopeia, who flinched at the projectile before it was whisked away by magic and stuck in the cap of the dummy's head. The other ricocheted off the ground, off the wall, spinning and tumbling wildly before Katarina blinked next to it and caught it by the handle, at the other end of the room. The next instant, without hesitation or looking, she flung it straight through the dummy's head from the behind, part of the point peaking out from the fake nose of the pockmarked object. Only then did the head detach, bouncing for a couple moments before rolling a circle lazily on the ground.

"Fucking Darius and that Obsidian Guard whore Sharon are jeopardizing the entire battle," Katarina announced, venting her scorn, "They don't think that I'm needed to restrain Crownguard. Its a damn nuisance to plan a war, much less fight one, with two morons yapping around with such idiotic and simpleminded ideas."

She walked towards the center of the room, feeling the magic return to her core as she calmed down. Catharsis works wonders.

"That's not your-"

"It is. I need Swain's good graces. For that, I need him safe, satisfied, not doubting his appointees, confident in Noxus. This battle is the start of a war, Cass. Losing on our own turf is unacceptable. They're- Darius and Sharon- They're gunning for me, and fucking up this fight while doing it, but they're close to Swain so I can't talk back. It's infuriating beyond measure."

"You'll find a way, Kat," Cassiopeia said as she flicked the dummy's detached head with her tail, skipping it towards the trash cubicle in the room, "There are ways to prove your point without being a condescending bitch."

Katarina narrowed your eyes, "You would know, but I'm not following your playbook, dear."

Cassiopeia gave a irritated laugh.

"You'll convince Swain. If not you'll just have to drag Garen out into the flanks."

"Easier said than done. The man has one destination: The horizon. He doesn't turn right or left. He goes forward. Through everything."

"Except you."

"Except me." Katarina announced proudly. She continued, her worry returning.

"He'd kill them, Cass. Garen would slice right through Sharon, and dance around Darius in an instant. It wouldn't matter at that point, even if he went to the edge and engage me. The battle would be lost. Moral would drop dead. This is a veteran army of Demacia. Demacian or not, they're a threat if moral goes."

"Unless you kill him."

Katarina considered it, procuring the last blade on her belt, long and lethal. For a moment, she got lost inspecting its sharpness, imagining its edge polished in his blood.

"Another ' _if_ '. I don't deal in hypotheticals, Cass. I don't have that liberty."

Cassiopeia gave an irritated _hmph_ , her face darkening.

"Well, stew on your negativity then. Just remember you're not the only one on a hot seat."

Katarina brushed off the chilled reply with indifferent silence as she lifted the dummy and brought it over to the trash. By the time she had kicked all of the to-be firewood into the pile, Cassiopeia had left.

Suited her just fine.

She left as well, leaving Talon to his work after a few short words of farewell. Trudging through the mansion, she eventually came to rest on her balcony, looking down the spine of Skull Hill, down to the Divide. Lights flickered from the alleyways, the windows, the doorways, banishing the darkness and bleeding color into a landscape of blue, grey and black. The silence on the hill was haunty, compared to the clamour that drifted up from the reddish hues of the base of the mountain. Noxus was alive, awake, its residents all struggling to prove their worth and climb the hill. The sight, the glow of the city was tantalizing. She inspected her knife yet again, watching the faint light and fire grace the silvery, dainty razor. The shadows and the flames, the light amongst the night, always a beautiful landscape for her, a landscape where she was comfortable, her realm.

In her comfort, she contemplated. She thought about Lorn, his bastard child. The strange, quiet advisor, never looking up, never flinching. Swain's glare, Sharon's concern. She thought of Piltover, and the whirring of the device she would scuttle, the flickering of the cameras, the security to bypass. She thought of the Demacia boots squelching in the thick mud, moving closer to the green fields near Geddon Road. She pictured Garen, his ruthless gaze staring out into the darkness, primed for war. Ready for her.

After a while of contemplation, she was satisfied. She knew what she would do to Lorn's bastard child in the morning, how she would assess his strengths, his weaknesses. Swain would be appeased, Sharon was much too easy to read, not a threat. Piltover's toys would be useless in the route she had planned, the Demacians confidence would end them. Garen. Garen...

She fell asleep dreaming of the ways she would try to best him, kill him, and raise his head for all to see.

* * *

End Chapter


	5. Hunt The Horizon

Chapter 5:

* * *

Hunt the Horizon

* * *

Katarina woke up a little before 0100 in Standard Noxian Time, from the best 4-hour sleep she had in a long while. Due to the fact that assignments and short sleeps were so common for her, after the longest period of inactivity there was a unnatural joy to be an active operative and having irregular sleep patterns once more. A quick rinse, an inspection of her weapons, and she was dressed for whatever combat situation Runeterra could throw at her. She made a point to inspect the Grand General's certification for the travels ahead, and then headed outside.

She took a nice, refreshing drag of fresh air from her balcony, staring down at the moonlit world before her. The fires had become embers, and the moon had taken firm hold of the world, the Lunari goddess gently illuminating the center of the streets and the roofs of the houses.

Katarina considered how long it would take her to leave the boundaries of the city, and decided that the incantations at The Silver Divide would be the better choice. Incantations, magical teleportation glyphs and runes that worked over long distances, were complicated mechanisms that required a massive amount of magic, compared to the rather economical magical jumps and dashes over short distances. However, personal magic was a tide, and repetitive use of her own magic over such a distance would be exhausting, whereas an incantation would tap into the magical power stored in crystals and other sinks, and not affect her in the slightest.

Her journey to the Silver Divide wasn't such a quick journey: It was something Katarina wanted to savor. Jumping from the balcony (she had already informed Cassiopeia and Talon of her early morning departure), she quietly left the Du Couteau household out into the street. She made her way down the stoney artery in a calm stroll, until stopping at the cast-iron grid of the Silver Wall. Two obsidian guards moved forward to search her.

Out went Swain's letter, and after the Lieutenant glared at the scrap of paper, taking off his helm and calling for a torch. Without opening the letter, they backed off. Katarina's preparations had been conveyed by the High Command: the guards had expected her, and the seal on the letter was all that was required.

"I'd like to use the Incantation to travel to the lower imperial stables, please."

The man in charge nodded and pulled out a key, moving to the side of the gate and unlocking the metal door. He opened and walked into the crystal-lit room, and she followed.

The inside of the Silver Divide was rather fantastic, an arcane barrier that prevented many from sneaking into the top of Skull Hill undetected. Magicians and scientists and hex-technologists had perfected this design in the latest surge of structural improvements to the city. The metal sheen and bright white corridors were quite blinding compared to the darkness that she had grown accustomed to.

No words were spoken, the first door they came across was the Incantation Room. It was a rather large chamber, crystals glowing and refracting light, natural occurrence due to the high concentration of magic in the air. Katarina could feel it with her sixth sense, the hollow, metallic yet earthy taste, smell, touch: The sixth sense was hard to describe, an essence that seemed to disassociate and blend with any of her other 5 senses. Of course, magic was a fickle, tricky creature, mysterious and elusive.

Usually a scribe or magician would be here to assist in a person's transport, but Katarina was an adept. The lieutenant stood far away from the etchings on the ground, careful not to be caught in the arcane, as she knelt at the center of the circle. She let the unknown flood into her, and her other sense grapple with it, channel it. She thought of the stables, the smell of livestock. After a moment, she caught a draft of the sweet smell of hay. She imagined the sound of hooves shifting in their pens, before her concentration flickered as her ears picked up the snort of a mare. One by one her dreams and thoughts became reality, her vision changed after a single blink. She turned around to face nobody, the Black Boot was gone, the room was empty, the crystals a lighter hue, the stone cobblestone instead of granite.

And the incantation was done, she had arrived at her destination. She knocked on the only door present and it was opened from the outside after being unlocked, a trio of black helms glaring down at her before moving aside. As she stepped into the stables, the guards quickly shut the door and locked it firmly. A skilled magician with access to the incantations could cross the entire city in moments, and thus the magical circles were kept under guard and heavily restricted. Only official incantations were allowed. Personal incantations was the only charge that was as damning as high treason.

She was quick to move across the hay-infested floor, spying a man fastening a sack to a charger in a rather clumsy manner.

 _"Oh dear."_ Was her mental dialogue, spotting so many errors at the same time. She could already tell this was her "trainee", Crispin.

She tapped him on the head with the flat end of a dagger. The response was rather lethargic, as the man turned to her, and blinked. Then he immediately stood tall, puffing out his chest and his face darkening to convey as much strength and sincerity as possible.

"Ma'm."

 _Oh dear_ , she repeated in a lament, deep in the confines of her skull, _a_ _brown-noser too._

"I suppose you're Crispin?"

"Yes, ma'm."

For a moment, she turned to look towards the guards standing at watch in front of the incantation. For a number of reasons: If they were watching, and if so, if they were sniggering. At the same time, she was also contemplating going back to her manor and practicing on a couple more dummies to relive some stress. Finally, she was casually estimating the distance.

"Crispin I just walked about 30 feet and you were still fumbling with that stupid knot, completely unaware of my arrival. Knotting isn't hex-tech, you know. Shouldn't take you that long, and shouldn't distract you so much. My blade that was knocking on your head, I could have just pierced your skull with it if I was in a poor enough mood. Pay attention to your surroundings. Don't do... _this_..."

Her last sentence came out more like a plea than a command. For Katarina, it was painful to point out such obvious things.

"Sorry, ma'm."

"Also, we're not riding a charger," Katarina said as she motioned to the horse, "Do I look like I'm wearing plate-mail?"

Katarina winced as she noticed that, as a matter of fact, the man known as Crispin was wearing plate-mail.

"T… Take off the plate-mail, damnit. We aren't going into battle. We're going to travel. Chargers are not traveling horses, we'll be taking palfreys. Did… Did you even **_get_** my instructions?"

Crispin began to realize the extent of Katarina's irritation, and how badly he had botched his first impression. Still, he had some dignity left in him.

"But, I'm being mobilized…"

"You're an Obsidian Guard. You've got a bloody Quartermaster who will make sure you have your pretty armor on, wherever you are fighting. Take off the shin-guards and all that weight. You can keep some steel, armguards if you're so scared of being vulnerable... and what the hell do you have in that bag?"

"Camp gear. Tents, stakes."

Crispin's sentences became more like statements than actual dialogue. A defensive manner of speech. He had already begun unlatching his helm, though, following Katarina's orders.

"Drop it all, we don't need any luggage. We're not going to be doing any camping. Straight to Zuan."

"I'll drop everything but my books." Cirspin responded humorlessly, tossing his shin guards off to the side. With helm and some armor off, Katarina could see he wasn't a shrimpy Noxian, and didn't seem to be such a thick-necked bigot, either. He had sandy hair that was cut rather short, and a face that was weathered and unblemished, no blood-cult markings seen (thank the skies). He stood at least one foot above her, and his body had a well-composed structure. Still, in his youth that was expected. Speaking of youth...

He was young. Very young. For a Black Boot, a very strange occurrence. Katarina could understand Lorn's apprehension: the inexperience was visible from every angle. Still…

No blood cult marks. So… Not so bad.

Katarina shrugged, satisfied. She skipped over to the column that held the small, compact riding saddle made from short leather straps, snatching one to equip to her horse, while Crispin stumbled to catch up. It was a rather quick task to set up her saddle, but once again she was delayed due to Crispin's clumsy handwork. She made no effort to help.

As they took their horses by the reins and began to walk towards the calvary gate of the Bone Palisade. She took the time to set the ground rules.

"I'm going to act as I always act on the field. You want me to do that. I won't slow down for you, and you don't need to slow down for me. Just remember that you are my subordinate as of now and I expect nothing but obedience. Where is your sword?"

Crisipin looked at her.

"You said no extra weight."

"Gods of soil and sky," Katarina swore to herself, exasperated, "You always have your weapon... _Go_!"

Crispin bolted back into the stables before Katarina could form sentences expressing her irritation, expletives emphasized. Katarina took hold of his horse as he left, still simmering as she looked towards the gates. He emerged a number of seconds later with a worn sheath strapped around his shoulders, his face flushed in embarrassment and self-loathing. The young man was still a kid when it came to hiding emotion, and something she made a point to critique.

"We're going to be seeing a Black Boot of yours, stop sniveling. Sons and Daughters of Noxus don't break easily."

Crispin frowned, trying to keep up with the criticism and impatience, grabbing hold of the rein.

"Looking angry doesn't help." Katarina reiterated.

Crispin's glare deepened for a moment of fury, but his face slowly relaxed as he tried to put on a mask. Katarina rolled her eyes: She would let him stew on that as they approached the gate.

This time, only one dark-armored knight stood in charge, commanding over they gray plated City Guard and common infantry. After seeing black and blue and other dull colors of the dark, Katarina was almost willing to kiss them for their color, and how brightly it looked in the moonlight. Out went her letter, and once more a torch was called for. This Black Boot took a longer glance at the seal, inspecting its ridges as if he was some expert. But it passed all the same.

"Safe travels." The black figure said after he called for the gate to be lifted, just to the height where she and her companion could fit under. The man slapped Crispin on the leg and added some words of encouragement. It was nice to know that Crispin wasn't a pariah in his own company.

The quietly marched underneath the thick, jagged points of the gate, its massive pillars trembling in the most unnerving way. The crisp night breeze was sharp and unruly, the field of grasses swaying frantically on both sides of the cement road that lead up to the gate. The glare of the moon was noticeable now, full and slowly descending from the sky, its white light gracing the fields and the woods.

Katarina quickly mounted her horse quick and effortlessly, and calmly waited while Crispin hoisted himself up. She took hold of the reins and pulled to the side, closing the gap between the two horses.

"We go north and follow The Worn up towards the Capital Boundary, then follow the Geddon Road up to our first stop. Should arrive around late morning."

"Understood."

Katarina nodded and brought her horse to a trot, leading the way as Crispin followed. The stone road would have been harsh on the hooves of their mounts, and so they rode parallel to it as they crossed the Iron Adder approached the distant hills of the Worn.

The Worn were a series of hills, curvy and connected, forming the shape of a dull sword that had seen too many battles. On the Eastern side of the mountain, its convex, the slopes were lumpy and gentle, worn down by floods of the river and the rains of winter. The Western, concave slopes were sharp, jagged and rocky, kept pristine due to the dry winds that filtered up from the gaps in the great divide, originating from the sands of Shurima. Many towns and minute cities were nestled in the gentle, deciduous hills, the source of many proficient archers and masons. The Worn was a landmark, separating the two great northern highways, The Grand Highway and the Stone Avenue. Only one turnpike connected the two great roads.

The Geddon.

As they traveled, Katarina basked in the fresh air, the earthy wind that was so sweet, so rustic. The fields of rice and other crops made the countryside seem so idyllic, peaceful, innocent. The only sign of Noxian domain was the broad road that they traveled alongside. Wide enough for at least 5 wagons, it was a tactical asset for the Noxian military, which made the finest roads in all of Valoran. No pot-holes, no drastic dips or depressions. Noxian infrastructure was the best, perfected over years of war and empire-building. None came close to their mastery over stone and sand. Period.

To her right were fields upon fields of crops, each with a distant, minute dwelling that hosted a family. Every day they would travel to the capital to share their goods, barter and return to their fields. Communities often pooled their resources together, guarded their fields and stores from thieves, shared seed and information. These meeting places were often farther off the road, kept exclusive thanks to the flat plains where they had their communal meetings.

The landscape morphed and changed over the first leg of their journey. As the moon slowly shambled down from the night sky, the darkness began to spread in the form of shadows. As their route took them closer to the woodlands of the Worn, the mass of darkness that was a forest began to cast shadows large enough to reach the hooves of their animals. Katarina spent some moments into that black mass, curious to spy any dread-cats that could be lurking in the darkness. Crispin was a bit more superstitious and moved away from the shade, still trailing Katarina.

The darkness did not last long. The first sign of sun was the disappearance of the stars that lit up the sky. Out in the country, away from the glow of the cities, the sky was the brightest feature to gaze upon, its beauty encapsulated in its myriad constellations. As the eastern stars began to fade, Katarina knew that the Solari goddess was not long in coming. By the time they reached their first destination the sunrise had already finished.

The first military checkpoint, a standard stop where the boundaries of the Capital ended and the rest of Noxus's empire began. Laws and punishments operated differently in the two domains, like battery or thievery.

The outpost saw them before they saw the outpost. Two riders approached them on mount, broadswords part-ways out of their sheaths, the steel glinting in the morning light.

More letterwork. The guard needed no torch, instead raising the letter up to catch the morning light, looking at the imperial seal. They allowed them to approach the military installation unmolested.

Katarina was more than happy to walk on her own two feet. A sidelong glance at Crispin somewhat told her that her companion had never ridden a horse for so long. She walked into the cool shade of the command post, flanked by two infantry-men, and handed off the letter to the scarred leader who stood behind a table that was hastily cleaned, crumbs swept off. He took the letter gently from Katarina's hands, carefully opening the broken seal and read the contents.

"Katarina, my dear. Good to see you out of the city again. Your 23rd Grand Caduceus during my command here." The man said in a wheezy, rough tone, bringing forward a candle and a paper that he began to scribble onto.

"Nice to be here, Merrik." Katarina responded with a tight smile.

The Regional Commander returned the smile, slipping his own verification within the letter before producing the silver wax seal, holding it over the flame. The black and grey mixed well as the letter was re-sealed, its allure reflecting its value. The Black-Silver seal was a Grand Caduceus , one of the most powerful tools of immunity in Valoran. Now if any Noxian fool who dared stop Katarina in her tracks and forced her to undo the seal would be at her mercy, and at best be sentenced to a court-martial. At worst, she could kill him for breaking the seal and endangering her mission.

Katarina was always happy to feel the crevasses of the silver wax as it internally hardened into a potent seal. She could feel the magic thrive within: The two waxes had chemicals and magical properties that gave a whole new layer of encryption that couldn't be forged out on the field.

"Such a pretty seal, no?" Merrik inquired.

"Quite. I'll be staying here for the morn. Food would be nice."

"As you wish."

As she left the post, she made a point to explain to Crispin.

"See? With status you don't need to pack supplies."

Crispin was still sullen, sore from the ride, but still wise enough to take the food without any back-talk. They ate their food in relative silence before the ringing noise of metal broke the idyllic silence of the camp, beyond the earthen ramparts that encircled the military compound. Perfect timing. Katarina rose and made it clear she wanted her subordinate to follow.

Out in the field, warriors played, their swords and other weapons dancing around one another. The weapons they used were dulled by combat, and instead of tossing them to be reforged or melted down, they were used as sparring equipment. Wood was for Demacians.

She spoke silently to Crispin.

"As of right now, nobody here knows your Obsidian. We're going to keep it that way so if you fuck up, you're not going to humiliate your entire division."

The warriors knew her. Everyone in Noxus knew her, and what it meant to be in her presence. Once one of them noticed her, he immediately stopped and stood tall for inspection. Others picked up his lead soon enough.

Katarina surveyed the men, then looked to Crispin.

"At ease. Could you entertain me with some swordplay, gents?"

The highest rank of the group, a bald lieutenant with a unkept chin and thick forehead nodded.

"It would be an honor."

"I'm only here to watch. My associate here will be sparring, however. Treat him like any other standard swordsman."

The man nodded, and Katarina walked two paces back to where Crisipin stood, stopping him with a palm. She gave him one last whisper.

"But remember, you're associated with me. So try your best not to get gutted or piss anyone off."

Crispin swallowed, his angry glare returning as he pulled out his sword. The blade was surprisingly poor quality, rather chipped and dull, easily mistaken for a sparring sword. He walked over to the lieutenant, sharing some words before the man in charge called out to one of his men. He jogged on over, before brandishing his weapon. As the men started up once again, Crispin and his sparring partner first crossed blades as a sign of formality, and then withdrew a couple paces to begin.

After a couple of clashes Crispin overpowered the man, forcing him to tap out. The process repeated a number of times, slower and more measured as the combatants became accustomed to their styles. However, it was clear Crisipin had the better sword, dominating the man in speed and skill with the shortsword. After a while, the two parted and they moved on towards other partners.

The sparring was organized as a ranked ladder, and as such Crispin moved up the rungs, facing more proficient and dangerous foes. Some opponents came at him with two-handed swings, another lunged like a prancing Demacian fencer. All of the men worked hard to impress, yet Crispin managed to deal with all challengers without having to acquiesce a single spar, but Katarina saw cracks and weaknesses begin to show in his form.

It was no surprise that Crispin found himself tapping swords with the lieutenant by the half of the hour. Katarina was confident that she knew who would win the fight, and sure enough after a number of parries, swings and jabs, the company leader raised his hand in defeat. A number of the fighters below the lieutenant were better suited to spar against Crispin's heavy-handed style of fighting, and as a result the leader of the morning exercises was not as hard to outmatch. And so it continued, with Crispin holding the top of the ladder, with Katarina lazily resting on the palisade.

"Not shabby. What's his story?"

Merrik again, flanked by two of his officers, both lightly armored, weapons fastened around their hips. Katarina knew Merrik well, a gleeful observer, vicious and conniving, always intent on measuring people and their fighting ability. The competitive sort, who always hungered for the edge in any possible confrontation. His eyes were acutely focused on action at all times, always judging swings, parries and the like.

"No story to speak of."

"Nobody simply rides with Miss Du Couteau. Must some a tale about him."

"Does it look like he has a story?"

Merrik frowned a tad as he continued to observe, disappointed by what he saw. He saw what Katarina saw: a lousy, inexperienced group of fighters working on their swings, unlikely to survive the war ahead.

"...Not really."

"I rest my case. Have you gotten orders from the High Command?" Katarina announced, trying to direct the conversation away from Crispin.

"Yes. About two thirds of this garrison will clear out in the next 48 hours. You're welcome to ride with us as escort…"

"Thanks, but no. I'm on a clock."

"I see. When shall I provide you with fresh horses?"

"Just about now, actually."

Without looking away, Merrik reached to the right and tapped the officer there.

"Devan."

"Yes commander." The officer named Devan responded before walking off to bring the livestock.

"How is Skull Hill?" Merrik said as Devan turned away, "Is the Chamber lively?"

"They should be abuzz now with the High Command's announcement. I believe Swain would let them know by now."

"True. They'll send their sons and daughters to bring them blood and prestige. Sharon has her child to send, as does Kroust. Skull Kids and Black Boots ought to make this an easy fight."

Often the residents of Skull Hill lent their children to the cause, in order to prove their worth to the High Command in hopes of climbing the mountain, bit by bit. There were a grand number of houses on Skull Hill, and as such a whole regiment was formed under these tributes, who marched under the Banner of Victor's Throne, but like the mountain, their company was called The Skull. Unpredictable in battle, but talent was always hiding amidst their ranks, along with hodge-podge of ambition, guile, and ruthlessness. They often were at bitter odds with The Palisade, the city and country counterpart of their legion.

"Is he a Skull Kid?"

Katarina chuckled, amused by Merrik's persistence in uncovering the truth.

"Wouldn't that be a story."

Merrik flicked his arm in tired dismissal. "Alright… Then about the battle: I wager we'll break them before the hour is up. Four ingots of adamantine."

Katarina nearly guaffed at the bet. Four ingots of adamantine, metal doped with high-grade crystal, was ridiculously bold of the Commander. He was desperate to elicit some sort of response or opinion from her.

"The Demacians? Have you seen the reports?"

"I was the first to know, before I sent the riders on to the Grand General. Demacian elite? Just means more gold. Gold bends easy. You take the bet or no?"

"Their mages mean something. And gold has its uses." Katarina retorted. It was true, gold cooked with crystal produced Shinesteel, a rather potent and durable alloy. It lost its strength like a living creature, slowly becoming less and less potent until the remaining residue was even more flimsy and ductile than before. But if the shinesteel the Demacians used was fresh...

"Magic can't stop all of the artillery shells we'll launch at them, all of the gas we'll paint them with."

Katarina was repulsed at the thought of gas. "Gas is risky. All up to the wind, you know. They have spears. They can pitch and hold a line, stall out the fight long enough for you to lose your adamantine."

"Then why won't you take the bet?"

"Because I don't take bets against my fellow countrymen."

Merrik shook his head, walking away from the fight to see the livestock being led to where they stood.

"Always the patriot, Katarina. Straight and proper, always in line! Even your scar stands to attention."

The remaining officer made a horrible mistake at smiling to that. Then he caught Katarina's eye and his face turned pale, and he swallowed, looking out towards the horizon.

"It's my nature, and I'm proud of it." She responded politely, still observing the dumb, sweating commandant, "I hope your mobilization goes smoothly, Merrik."

"Of course, Miss Du Couteau. Best wishes."

Katarina walked off to fetch Crispin, who tapped blades with the new champion before scooping up his sack and following his commanding officer to the horses. Once again they trotted a distance before Katarina pulled her horse to a stop and looked over to Crispin and gave him some crisp words on the route they would take. And so they went, leaving the scheming Merrik to his troops and mobilization.

* * *

The route shifted from plains to creeks and marshes, with deciduous trees covering their trail as they rode off roads straight towards the Zuanite domain. Soon water became slicker, soil darker and trees darkened by soot or unnatural contamination. It was noon, the sun still high in the sky, albeit faltering.

Katarina rose her hand as they approached a slight clearing. Zuan was behind the next couple of hills to the East, its massive industry ceaselessly spewing out sludge. From the clearing and above the canopy of leaves and trees them lay the deep blue of the Calm Sea, a gulf that separated the two technocratic cities. For ages the Calm Sea was filled with boats of Zuan and Piltover, their antient correspondence until the eve of the first wave of Rune Wars began to erode their trust. Trade still occurred, but the spirit of friendship was replaced with the animosity of rivalry.

"Camp here. Tomorrow we ride parallel to the shore until we reach the bogs of Piltover."

"We're going to enter Piltover in the day?"

"I will: You're not invited. Now dismount, we have work to do."

Crispin was more than happy to dismount and tie his horse to a stray tree, stumbling about and sore from the long, long ride. Katarina pulled out a sword and walked towards the center of the clearing. Crispin realized what was about to happen and yanked his sword out eagerly, trying to shake out the discomfort. Katarina sighed and lazily gestured to him with her sword.

"Be suave, not severe: that blade is already quite dull and worn, don't put any more pointless strain on it."

"Sorry."

Katarina ignored him and took one last gander at his pose, before gesturing him to take a fighting stance.

"That's the same with how you fight, I'm afraid. You hammer people into submission. You practice your swings well and control your rhythm, but you lack tact. Knowledge. Experience. In a battlefield, focusing on your opponent will only get yourself killed."

Crispin was confused by the comment, so Katarina elaborated.

"You commit too much to a single fight. No foresight: You do not give pause. In a couple of your sparring matches, there wasn't a moment where you weren't trading blows. Say you do that. Would you have the energy to do it 90 times straight against a seething mass of goldies? What if you fight two men at once? Three?"

Crispin paused, but before he could formulate an answer, Katarina continued.

"Dictate this fight. Come at me and pressure. Take initiative."

Crispin nodded and leapt at her, with one controlled half-swing to her face. Katarina parried the blow head on, taking a step back. The same event occurred about three times before she had enough, her suspicions confirmed.

"Stop! Stop. Too binary. Here, you play defensive."

No sooner than Crispin put his guard up then Katarina lunged at him, keeping her blade and her arm still and unmoving. Crispin reacted, stepping back, and the second time she danced forward he faltered and retreated a bit less. The third time he tried to deliver a blow, but Katarina just stopped and hopped to the right before faking another lunge forward and pulling out another defensive scramble by Crispin.

"Next."

Katarina used her weapon now, swiping at Crispin's forehead, forcing him to react. However, she made no effort to press her advantage and kept her feet planted in their place.

"Now. I forced you to react in two different ways. The first was me moving without using my sword, the next was using my sword while standing still. Were you ever in any danger?"

Crisipin gave a sheepish shrug.

"No. Not really. This is sparring. But in a skirmish, I can corrall you, control you, see? And without much work, either. I could make you take a half-step back and have the extra second to check my surroundings, or drive you into a corner, or into a crossfire. Very useful, a very powerful tool, a necessity if you want to survive a war. This is initiative: how you dictate how a fight is carried out, from start to finish, every possible exchange. This is what you lack. Half the time you were sparring you were outmatched in skill, and you won through superior strength and pressure. The other half you were in a bad position but won out of your opponent's negligence. You dictate fights on one fixed method: domination. Much too energy intensive. If you want to drive an enemy back, you attack, instead of utilizing a feint or a stutter-step."

"So…" Crispin was still a bit lost.

Katarina spun her sword, organizing her thoughts.

"One: Fight in a more passive manner, giving time to think about your actions. Two: Diversify the use of your sword and your stance. Three: Focus on exposing weakness, controlling your opponent, and using the most effective attacks. Four: Use just enough energy to overcome your opponent. Understood?"

Crispin nodded.

"Then let us begin."

If Crispin hadn't been sore from the constant riding for the day, he certainly was after the duel. Until sundown Katarina drilled him in Du Couteau fashion: a step by step deconstruction of his fighting style, giving welts whenever his diligence slipped, or whenever she felt like it. To finish the exercise, she sent him on a sprint through the thicket to work on his dexterity, making him zig-zag to each tree trunk he came across. As young and vital as he was, he was practically dead as they settled for sleep. Katarina leaned against a tree, while Crispin glared at a book until the darkness was too much for him to bear. He lay down and stared to the sky.

"The battle is days away," he groaned, hand to his forehead, "and I feel like I can't walk a mile."

Katarina was mildly insulted by Crispin's statement, his lack of discipline and loquacious attitude made him incredibly annoying. Still, her patience ran deep.

"Exhaustion will fade, and we have our horses. What matters is that you get antiquated with being quick on your feet. Slow fighters are the least likely to survive an engagement."

"Is Darius slow?"

"Deceptively. It's not his feet you worry about, it's the axe that's nimble. He's fast in his own way."

"Hm." Crispin muttered, sitting up in the gloom, "What about Draven? What's his style like?"

"Unorthodox, and so he's intimidating. You should know that in actuality those axes he spins are quite light, only that his skill with them makes them so effective."

"How about the Blade's Shadow?"

This time, Katarina was confused, "Who the hell is that?"

"You know, the Crimson Elite who works for you. The hooded one."

"That's what you commoners call him?" Katarina remarked humorously, realizing Talon was the subject in question, "Well, he's a bit more definitive with the blade, dexterous but physical."

"I've only heard about him, never been in a war before…" Crispin remarked, hurt by being branded a commoner.

"Cheer up, kid. You will. Now sleep or you'll really be smarting-"

"Wait up. The Demacians. What about them? What if I'm up against the Laurent girl?"

Katarina smirked, "You won't be up against her, you'd be up against the man pushing you into her. Fiora has a delicate blade, but sharp. She kills by slipping it by your guard and poking you. One hit is all she needs, but if you have a strong enough guard that can keep up with her speed and dexterity you can survive for a while."

"So?"

"Get a really big shield. Don't attack. Ever." Katarina remarked, chuckling at the thought.

"What about Crownguard?"

Katarina just sighed and shook her head.

"That's not going to happen. You're never going to fight any of the Demacian greats, as long as you play safe and remain aware of the battle."

"But what if I do?"

"You won't. He'd bowl you over like a Skiddler."

"Why? Is he that good?"

"Yes."

"Then how the blaze do you fight him with knives?"

"I dart, duck, dive and dodge," Katarina responded with a smirk in the darkness, "Speed is key, remember?"

"How many times have you two fought?"

Katarina honestly tried to come up with an answer. She couldn't find one. The silence made Crispin talk once more, and her irritation began to mount.

"Thats crazy, that neither of you have lost up to this point."

"A testament to our skill, and more the reason why you're never going to fight him. Now please shut up and sleep, I'll wake you when it's your turn to watch. No falling asleep on guard duty. You can ask me about the rest later, if you're so eager to rush to death."

The darkness was cleansing, calming. After 30 minutes Crispin was far off in the void of sleep, while Katarina tested the sharpness of one of her blades on the tree clutter that blanketed the earth. The woods around them seethed with life, but even the nocturnal creatures and their slit pupils refused to go near the Sinister Blade, their nightmarish glares distant, their insidious growls fearful, as she stared straight back at them.

* * *

End Chapter


	6. Sabotage

Chapter 6:

* * *

Sabotage

* * *

The trip to Piltover was quick, compared to their exodus from the day before. Hilly terrain, with many streams to cross as they headed towards the swampy flats of the authoritarian techno-state. After drinking from a brook with clear water (a rarity considering the proximity to Zaun), Katarina and Crispin made their way up and down the small hills and valleys hidden in the forest, at a slow, but reasonable pace.

"So you're going to infiltrate during the day?" Crispin began, as the trees gave way to a long field of grass and water, the estuaries that heralded Piltover's domain. The horses were given a nice rest to drink and forage in the shade, away from the bright and intense mid-day sun.

"Partways. Piltover requires some trickery. Sneaking in is easier during the day, but operation will occur in the cover of night."

"I see. When will we seperate?"

"Here and now, I suppose. Keep yourself in the woods and don't get caught. Rest, let the horses mellow, and be ready to move after the sun goes down."

"How will you find me?"

"With this," Katarina said as she gave Crispin the cylindrical object, "It's a flare. Just pop the top off and chuck it as high as you can. You know how to read stars, correct?"

Crispin nodded.

"Yes."

"When you can clearly see the start of the Star-lark, crack it and fling it as high up as you can, horses at the ready. I'll be the first one there and we'll be homefree."

"What if-"

"No questions. Just do it."

"Yes'm."

* * *

And she was free! Free to dance and frolic through the fields, without some sword-fumbling simpleton to drag his feet and ask her question after question after question. Of course, she didn't dance or frolic or leap around like a frilly little girl, she was a professional assassin by trade.

But she could if she wanted to. And that's what that mattered.

The silhouette of Piltover's massive factory-city was visible in the distance, but Katarina knew she had already entered its sphere of order and surveillance. Patrol Rescue Bots carefully wove their way through the marshes that surrounded Piltover's domain, providing guidance and assistance, collecting and managing crops and resources, all the while cameras rolling, recording, providing the Piltover Authority with a near impenetrable buffer between the marshes and the outer boundaries of the city.

For the common thief, of course.

Katarina of higher quality, and she had operatives that had planned ahead of time. Patrol Rescue Bots, or PRBs as acronym-addicted operatives would call them, were a powerful measure against outlaws, but they could just as easily used to her advantage. All that mattered was that she would spot the machines before their cameras focused in on her. So she stayed low, using the high grasses and muddy to hide from view, as she darted deeper and deeper into the muddy biome. She soon found tracks of a bot, the shoots of grass already standing back up after the metallic device rolled over them. Finding a particularly healthy thicket of brush, Katarina absconded herself, and so the hunt began.

Luckily enough, she was not kept waiting. Soon a hum and puff of a smoke engine rumbled in the distance, and through the brush she could spy the steam and outline of the Rescue Bot. She counted the distance, each meter, calculated trajectories…

The large craft began to move past her hiding spot, a number of meters away, Katarina leapt from her cover in a clean ark, and landed squarely on top of the machine, which proceeded undaunted and unaware of the sudden addition of a passenger. There were many recording devices on the craft, but they were far from covering every possible blindspot. Careful not to touch the antennae or slip in front of the mounted cameras, Katarina pressed into the indent of the machine, so that only someone from above would notice her concealment.

This hiding place wouldn't get her into the city, not even close. There were watch-towers, and inspections waiting for her at the Bot Docks. No, that was folly. But this position wasn't meant to get her to the city.

After a while the machine began to approach the mushroom construct that was Piltover's central control, and soon the muddy marshes gave way to a earthen road. Suddenly a jolt shuddered throughout the machine and a scraping noise plagued the machine as it began to transverse on cement. Katarina tensed as voices cut the air.

"The mud is rough today, huh Drek?" A girl said with a lackadaisical drawl, as the sound of water drew near.

"Of course, Mirin. No rain makes the marshes salty and sticky." The older voice said as the high pressured water hit the bot and made a loud, cantankerous hiss. Mist and water leapt up from both sides of the bot.

Katarina checked the surroundings quietly and quickly. It was a simple outpost, a small house with a water pump and a drainage system, its purpose to make sure that the bots ran smoothly and did not fail out in the field. Close to the docks, sure, but nobody was near enough to see…

So she dismounted, leaping high and straight onto the roof of the outpost, perfectly out of view of the cameras of the Rescue Bot, and quiet enough to not alert the busy employee known as Mirin, busy with washing the individual grooves of the mechanical treads of the Rescue Bot. For a moment, Katarina, turned around and made sure that the employees had not spotted her, and then turned her gaze to the area around the outpost to make sure one last scan for any possible witnesses. There were none. Not a surprise.

So she waited. Again. In time the workers finished with their rinse and check, and the rescue bot proceeded down the road and back into the swamp, passing the proximity alarms that would have sounded if Katarina would have tried to approach the outpost on foot. Some more discussion occurred as the workers walked into the shelter to escape the sun, and when they had taken their place back at the desk and resumed playing cards (which Katarina ascertained through hearing the zip of cards being shuffled), the assassin quietly fell to the ground, walking over to the water drain, still slightly muddy with the residue of the wash slowly filtering into the pipes below.

This was her doorway into the city of progress.

With some careful, quiet effort, the bars of the griddle was removed, and Katarina passed through into the darkness and moisture that dwelled beneath. The grey water swirled around her in a lazy fashion as she dragged the cover back into place, before slowly wading into the darkness.

No flares for vision- instead, she produced one of her blades and channeled her magic. As her fingertips shivered and stung, the etches on the blade suddenly began to flicker and hum with a dim light. Careful to maintain her energy, she let the magic ebb until she was left with a dim, fluorescent metal. And so she began to move, quietly and deliberately, through the filth and moisture, off in the direction towards the city.

It took some time, but eventually the noise of the city grew louder and louder with each passing mancover. Human voices drifted down into the sewer, unaware of Katarina casually continued her trudge through the muck. Sometimes, large thick bars blocked her path, an attempt to dissuade illegal activity, but some of these seemingly unbreakable poles were easily bypassed with a good yank - the work of previous operatives, of course. Even if the route wasn't prepared in advance, she still could ride of the barriers with some simple magic, or chemical reagents that she kept for insurance.

There came a point where the red dot of a camera flickered in the distance, to which Katarina simple lowered herself into the sewage and crawled forward, ignoring the tendrils of filth that brushed past her, the particles tickling her face. After passing the camera and she getting to her feet, she found the next manhole cover and leaned against the curve of the pipe. The noise above was no longer pedestrian, but a percussion of machinery and industry. She was at the right place.

But at the wrong time.

So she waited, until the light falling down from the holes on the metal cover began to angle and disappear, as the mid-day sun vanished into the horizon and the world above fell into darkness. Katarina took the time to review her equipment, ensuring that her gloves were on tight, that her satchel kept its air-tight seal, that the vials were uninjured and her blades sharpened to her satisfaction. It was rather boring to stew around in brine and odor, but the promise of tonight's operation was encouraging.

* * *

Darkness shown through the grills. It was time for the fun to start.

When she exited the sewers, she was practically surrounded by machines. Large bulbous vats sat rumbling to her right and to her left, making her quite visible in the small maintenance street. However, the corridor was empty, no vehicles or people in sight, only a small stream of runoff that emptied into the sewer below. She made a quick replacement of the manhole and found some shade to hide in. The flickering incandescent lights shed light on the distillery, and when Katarina found her bearings, she began to climb the construct she had hidden under. The piping made the job quick and easy, and soon she was crouching in a dark patch of the enormous container, figuring out her location.

She had emerged in a distillery in Piltover's industrial zone, right next to one of the robotic factories that churned out automatons by the hundreds. Arching above her was the cap of Piltover's mushroom-factory, blimps hanging amongst it many sky-docks. The massive column that supported the massive construct was only a couple hundred meters away. It had a girth that was almost twice the width of The Pit, going up at least one hundred stories before the umbrella.

It was a straightforward climb, but Katarina did not plan on taking the simple route. A more fitting challenge would be to access the staff elevator. A staff elevator, in common Piltoverian fashion, was monitored by security cameras.

Making her way to the enormous, curved wall by leaping from vat to construct to machine to rooftop, Katarina spent most of the time sticking in the shadows, only pausing when she reached the closest building to the massive pillar. She took a closer look at the circular wall, searching for any points of entry, until she spotted a trio of workers exit a caged lift a few hundred meters away from her position. Next she identified the locations of the cameras: a number watched the pathways to either side of the elevator, and a third sat squarely on top of the entry, looking out. No guard in sight, not even a security bot. Pilties.

 _How dumb can they be?_

The hardest part of accessing the lift was time. There was no cover, just one circular roundabout concrete road that encircled the base of the pillar. To even approach the elevator, she'd be out in the open, right in the crosshairs of any dumb passerby to see. It was a good enough time as any to use her magic, and that is exactly what she did, just when the workers disappeared from view, into the forest of metal machines and industrial buildings.

Another tricksy thing about magic: Repeated magical moves are more strenuous than one single motion, but stretching your energy too far will result in a dud, or worse, a self-inflicted feedback. A hundred meter jump is an insane distance for most common magical users, and even as Katarina lept from the building and focused on her powers, the dissolution that occurred was a high toll. Her vision and focus swam and twisted, threatening to interfere and interrupt the spell. For a moment, Katarina felt her body stiffen in a moment of trauma, before she grabbed hold of a wall and let her feet gently land on her target location. Many other mages would collapse after such a massive leap, but Katarina had practice. She was able to focus through magically-induced nausea, hallucinations and injuries, her balance and composure unaffected.

The camera mount barely shifted, if at all. If the guard was staring at this camera's feed, high up in the tower, he wouldn't have been able to notice a difference in the picture. Katarina ignored the sudden lethargy in her mind, still drained by the spell. A passing mental weakness that she could contain, something she was very much used to. She dropped down to the ground, snug and safe within the blind spot of the cameras. If there was a guard, things would have been much more difficult... But pilties wore rose glasses when it came to technology and security. Tricking the lock to access the elevator was more of a challenge, and in a flash she was ascending to the sky-docks. About 25 seconds of exposure, and as she rose she could see that nobody was vicinity to spot her, the guards long gone. Katarina stifled a smile chuckle.

 _Easy work._

The ride took about two minutes. Katarina made good use of that time, unscrewing the top panel and escaping onto the top of the elevator. When it reached the given floor, she had the added security that if there was someone nearby, they would not realize that a Noxian assassin had just infiltrated one of the most crucial buildings comprising Piltover's economy, government and military apparatus.

The doors opened. Katarina waited. The silence persisted. She was in the clear: Now came the fun part.

The hallways were dimly lit, the noise of the city below the only sound. Katarina smoothly walked down the halls, looking into the dark rooms and glancing at the signs that hung over them. To her, surveying this scene was like shopping at the merchant isles that cluttered the lower levels of the Capital. Every detail was casually taken in, as she assessed what to do first, what was the most appetizing source of intelligence, and what would be the easiest to loot. Turning a corner, and unlatching a door, she stepped out into the cold wind to take a look at the big prize.

The massive blimp stood floating, moored in a number of places, swaying gently to and fro. It's silver and grey exterior looked black in the shadows, the copper hues and strong fabrics a dismal, dark brown. At least 30 meters long, it was a gargantuan artillery platform, with various slots for cannons and rocket platforms. The catwalks rattled periodically as they too were buffeted by the sharp winds, the only insurance against the sheer drop was a net that hung at the bottom of the massive hangar. From the ceiling, various platforms hung, sporting crates, supplies and equipment used in the construction and maintenance of the warship.

To her right was a glass box housing various keys and basic schematics of the hanger, where certain reagents were housed, where the power tools were stored, and of course, the fresh, factory-cut key that was labeled "P.S.Q". The glass box was locked, of course. More fun and games.

Another lock picked, the key handily acquired. She quietly sped across the catwalk to the massive carrier, still concerned about the possibility of a night guard or late hour inspection. The entrance to the vessel was at least four meters wide and tall, the door rolling inwards as Katarina slipped in and began to do her work.

It was a powerful craft, made for war, that was clear to see. Like a modified man-o-war that sailed upon waves, but the layout was inversed. At the bottom were the more auxiliary services- a bay for dropping payloads or supplies and a lookout. The next level, the level which she entered into, was the firing platform and what she assumed was the captain's quarters. The top level was reserved for the magazine and the engine: the apex of her mission. As she clambered onto the upper hold, she was delighted to see the orderly stacked barrels of ammunition and various other munitions strewn about. The air was dry, and Katarina knew that trying to set a fuse would give her little to no time to get clear. Instead of the typical fuse, Katarina procured her satchel and brought out the chemical vial. After a bit of rudimentary chemistry, the mixture was set, and over time would heat up and eventually ignite, all the while safely hidden from view, behind a couple cases of munitions. Bless those Zaunities and their liquid hexplosive tech. Vandalism and industrial sabotage was never so easy!

According to her chemistry calculations, she had about ten minutes for her secondary targets. She exited the blimp and returned the key, before breaking into one of the dark offices that she had spied before. Unfortunately, the marked target, Hypha, was absent, but the documents from his desk and the info from his terminal could prove useful to the High Command. Fortunately, this was his on-site office, and most of the work pertained to the warship moored in the hanger. Some quick emulation parchment copied the crucial documents effortlessly, and the valuable intelligence was sealed in the water-tight compartment over her bag. The terminal was more tricky, with the data housed within written manually down on a piece of paper, jotting down the more valuable pieces of informatio-

Footsteps.

She turned off the flickering screen of the terminal in a flash and placed herself behind the door, away from the light that wafted in from the windows. Her body was still, her heartbeat unaffected, the blade in her hand level and thirsty. Part of her took this "threat" as a welcomed change of pace: Maybe she would score the kill after all.

Silence.

No mistake, she had heard footsteps, a rattling of metal, but the noise had disappeared. The person, for whatever reason, had stopped. It mattered little if she was trapped: Katarina had her little concoction bubbling in the magazine, and the resulting explosion would give her the opening to proceed. Waiting was fine with her.

 _Ccrrrsssh_

A noise in the distance, it started as a hiss and then grew into a crackle as the guard began to speak into his short-wave transmitter, saying things that Katarina couldn't make out. She flexed her hand and let her fingers splay out, testing the grip of her knife as she prepared for the chaos. Whatever the person was saying, even if he was calling for backup, it was well too late.

The silence didn't last long: The enormous shudder and roar, Katarina pushed out of the office, into the hall. The road leading to the hanger was splattered with orange light, flames and fire painting the world with its heat. She made her way to the elevator, satisfied with the operation...

If only the elevator had been unoccupied. Instead, as Katarina arrived at the service elevator platform, she saw the lit box rise up to meet her, carrying a very, very, _very_ cross Piltoverian wearing an officer uniform and flanked with two mechanical guard-bots. Backup had arrived quickly. Suspiciously too quickly. Katarina growled and spun around, back to where she came.

"STOP!" The enforcer roared at her, and as Katarina jolted around the first corner, the sound of breaking and bent metal followed her. The wave of heat rose up against Katarina as she ran back into the dock.

Time for the contingency plan.

Black scorch and fire plagued the hanger, the massive blimp a broken, crippled creature, certainly unfit for the battle ahead. The flames were everywhere, but already weakened, the powered and explosion playing its part in smothering the explosion, as well as the artificial rain falling from above from sprinklers in the ceiling. Katarina already had thoughts on how to escape, but dodging the flickering gusts of conflagration were frustrating her efforts. After a leap and a flash of magical power, she was hanging onto one of the massive moors that kept the warship attached. The metal was hot from the explosion, and most of the blimp was smoldering with flames. The blimp couldn't fly, but that wasn't what Katarina needed...

Vi certainly wanted to stop her, but by the time she spotted Katarina working on top of the blimp, Katarina was wedging a magically-sharpened blade into one of the last few linking mechanisms. Katarina looked down and was surprised to see the police officer dash to the side, away from the blimp and towards the rubble in the corner of the hanger. Rescuing the mysterious radio-carrier, she gathered, as Vi effortlessly ripped a length of metal off the ground and tossed it to the side to free the pinned guard.

She gave her a wave to the Pilties as the blimp shuddered and fell, ripping through the safety-net as if it was soggy paper.

Riding a flaming sky-barge down half a kilometer was a zany and terrifying idea. Luckily the speed of the craft wasn't the major threat, because of the auxiliary balloons that had remained unaffected by the blast, but rather the sharp wind that nearly ripped her off the ride. Staying low and anchored with a knife wedged into the craft, she kept pulled out the one last item she had stashed on her belt. Not exactly how she had expected to use the tool, but it would have to do.

In a moment of terrifying reality, the blimp began to turn, its balance jeopardized and its gaseous buoyancy diffusing with every second. At the last moments, there were no stalks of flame or smoke, the high winds snuffing the combustion completely. There was only velocity, as the blimp became a weight. About 200 meters from the surface, Katarina decided that their partnership had come to an end. She leapt away from keeling, metal anvil and braced for the shock when the expanding glider caught air. The shock nearly fractured her arms, but she was smart to ease the air into the sail, and not attempting to halt her fall immediately, instead pointing the gilder straight towards the ground to cut the air as best as she could. Slowly, she pulled up with her arms to bring more air under glider, more concerned about getting her to the ground, and to cover, than how fast she was descending. Descending into a commercial district, with the roofs of skyscrapers rising up to meet her. She ditched the glider at about 25 meters from the nearest skyscraper and immediately used her magic to make contact with the ground. The momentum stayed with her as she tumbled on the platform, crossing the entire roof as she slowed down her velocity. Reaching the edge of the roof, she immediately vaulted the railing and fell downwards in between the two buildings for cover. Not a moment too soon.

A bullet pulverized the concert, drilling inches above her head as she landed on a ledge a number of meters below the roof. The notorious Piltoverian sharpshooter had accounted for nearly everything, even with the magic that Katarina used to throw off her aim. Katarina was quick to continue her descent, using the sides of the two buildings and their various poles and ledges as elements to control her fall. Time was running out: anywhere out in the open was fair game. This sharpshooter knew how to ricochet rounds as accurately as any other straight shot, and was probably already moving to a better vantage point. The earth felt good at her feet, but it provided no security, and worse there was no manhole to access the underground in the alleyway. As much as it pained her, she had to risk the open road. She would have to discern the Sheriff's position by the bullets she would fire. Only then would Katarina be able to slip safely away into the sewers below, through a manhole that wasn't in Caitlyn's line of fire.

There was more to the formula than Katarina wished: The moment she dashed out from the ally officers tried to block her way, with electrical batons and factory-stamped pistols. The first police trolley she encountered skidded around a corner and attempted to block her path as she ran on the sidewalk. The obstacle was scaled with a leap, and in the instant her feet left the ground she could feel the chamber of Caitlyn's rifle explode. Another trip through the magical portal was required to avoid the round, placing Katarina on the opposite side of the road. For a moment Katarina skidded to halt, assessing the impact. Dust and sediment crept up from the concrete in front of the trolley: Caitlyn was aiming from up ahead. But turning back would risk running into Vi and an army of officers. She had to move forward. Katarina gritted her teeth as she ducked to the right and zig-zagged forward, while one of the officers fruitlessly tried to tag her with his own pistol. A group of trolleys could be seen from the distance, moving down to intercept her.

 _How does the Zaun chick do this weekly? She's probably got calves of iron and lungs lik-_

 _VVVVVVVvvvv_ -

Another round, just dodged with a jerk of the neck. The hot streak of fire was audible as it seared her ear and her throat, a warning that her misplaced concentration was going to kill her. Katarina frowned, concerned and angry at the lack of focus. Still, as a silver lining, the close call gave her a sense of Caitlyn's location: four to five blocks down, from one of the buildings on the left. It was not the best vantage point, which assured her that she hadn't walked into a trap. She would go right then, and put some concrete walls between her and this god-damned gunslinger. The trolleys beat her to the alley way, and the police filed out, each with another pistol. How quickly the Piltoverian Police had assembled, but Katarina was no longer operating in silence. She let her knives fly, and a number of police fell, some gripping the metal barbs embedded in their bodies, others lacking the vigor to do so. Anticipating another round from Caitlyn's rifle, Katarina took a full stop and dived to the left, back out into the street in a 90 degree change of direction. Diving into roll and ending it with a jump further to the left as the air shuddered as a round exploded in front of her, expanding into a metallic shark of a projectile, its deceptively delicate frame expanding into a force of at least 3 meters. Katarina felt a moment of amazement as the round passed centimeters beneath her leading foot. The fucking Piltoverian Peacemaker itself. It continued for a good number of meters before grinding on the ground.

Katarina landed on her feet and rushed forward, letting the magic surge forth. This dodging was coming to an end: Caitlyn was catching onto her mannerisms, and soon would be able to predict how she would try and dodge. One hit from a peacemaker and it'd be over. Getting out of sight was the best bet. The only sane one.

Katarina brought out more knives, and the flurry "distracted" the rest of the officers. The energy grew around her and in a moment she was in another alley, running towards the next street…

The round clipped her on the hip, nearly causing her to stumble. The burn and pain was invigorating and maddening, and Katarina let loose a hissing curse. Caitlyn's ability to ricochet a bullet was inhuman. Luckily a clip was only a clip, and she was still able to run, evade, and escape.

The enforcer crashed down in front of her, falling from the top of the building, blocking her path. Behind her, more trolleys began to roll up and back her up. Behind Katarina some survivors stood at the ready.

Katarina cussed out loud again, but Vi was already shouting over her, demanding her to stop. Katarina just leapt up and ran along one of the walls before hopping onto the opposing wall to dodge an entire garbage disposal retainer (about 5 meters long and two meters wide, at least 500 pounds) that Vi chucked at her. The cops opened fire and Katarina summoned her energy yet again, feeling the tear in her body as she pushed for an excessively long phase leap. Past all of the rabble and out of the busy alleyway, now onto road behind the line of police trolleys, free to run some more. The strain of the chase was beginning to wear on her confidence, but she knew freedom was in sight. She could care less about how lethal Caitlyn's bullets were, or how Vi was able to follow her down to solid ground from the air-docks, all of that would be null if she could just get into that sewer.

Gunshots whizzed around her. These officers were sharp, turning around quickly and discerning where she had teleported to, but easy dips compared to the sheriff. She skidded to a stop, admiring the cleanliness of the manhole cover...

Her head snapped up to see a two ton automobile hurtling towards her position. Another warp away was necessary, and as Katarina ran away from the truck that was still skidding and tumbling on the road, Vi was able to close the distance. Katarina chose to fight, and attempt to rid herself of this constant pursuer. The enforcer was a tall opponent, a good foot over her, and so her fist went straight down, attempting to pulverize Katarina from the top. As Katarina dodged to the right and tried to lash out a counter, but the metalic glove collided with the ground with such force, steam and rock exploding outward, robbing her the opportunity to counter-attack. Katarina grew more frustrated: Killing the enforcer would be more tricksy than she thought, and every moment wasted was another moment for Caitlyn to get in range…

Katarina broke away again, realizing that attacking Vi was a pointless waste of time. The next manhole, then. No more jokes: one massive, strenuous effort to make the blink, the magic threatening to burst from the confines of her skull. She landed perfectly situated next to her salvation, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the net explode from out of the nearest alleyway. She countered the projectile with some of her own, cutting the bola off from the net and calmly throwing the heavy weave aside.

Caitlyn stood, with rifle aimed, about 50 paces away. There was a grimace in her face and more importantly, an red streak of light emanating from her gun. Katarina could feel the heat of the dot...

 _On my chest._

She let the magic flow, but she knew she didn't have the strength for a leap in this moment in time, and physically dodging Caitlyn was a fools dream. She let it supply her body instead, granting it energy, speed, dexterity, the inhuman drive to rip up the manhole cover and place throw it at her assailant, right in the path of the laser sight.

The round blew away manhole cover like it was a errant speck of dust, casting it far up into the sky in a ludicrously fast velocity. However, the projectile was deflected slightly by the obstacle, and it passed to the left of Katarina, who was already diving straight for the muck and darkness below. Another shot from Caitlyn followed her, and a bullet slammed into her calf as she disappeared from the surface. But it no longer mattered.

She was in her element.

* * *

And she was free! Free to sprint and stumble and limp across the marshes in the dead of night, with beams of flashlights following her, the clanking engines of the Rescue-Bots swarming the marsh. The police had just missed her as she exited out from a sewers from a grate sitting out in the marshes, where the water from the city was purified. They had gone as far as to flood the sewers to try and flush her out of the system, but it only served to clean her from the dirt and grime. As she escaped, blood welled out from her leg in a nasty and annoying fashion, lukewarm as she splashed through the swamps. It would have been a shame for her to get so far only to get her head blown off by the ace of Piltover, and that grim thought kept her running fast. In a good couple of minutes that felt like an era, Katarina could spy the treeline illuminated by the moonlight. No flare in sight.

In frustration and powered by her adrenaline, she took out an dry and unused flare from her pouch. Cracking it and throwing it up into the air, she could see another flare lit in response in the dark.

Crispin's face wrinkled when he saw the mud-splattered assassin run up to him, then gaped as she leapt straight into the empty horse's saddle from the ground ten paces away. He looked at her bleeding wound and then back at her.

"Hey- You're..."

"Mission done. This is a small deal. Routine. Get moving." Katarina snapped at him, breathing heavy and in no mood for the young boy's amazement, too busy to scold him on not cracking the flare earlier. Last time she checked the sky, the Star-Lark was clearly visible. She supposed he was judging the constellation by the lark's eye, and not by its beak, but she would point out his blunder later.

Crispin moved. Katarina took one last look at the city of Piltover. She recalled the shudder of the explosion, the crashing of the zeppelin, the hot streaks of bullets whizzing by her, and Vi's assault. The P.S. Quicksilver lay in ruins, grounded for good, dropped onto the city it was meant to protect and no longer a threat in Swain's plans for conquest. She smiled at the thoughts, proud of the job well done, the havoc she had wrought.

 _Your move, Jinx._

* * *

End Chapter


	7. The Wind Quickens

Chapter 7

* * *

The Wind Quickens

* * *

Getting clean was a plus, but getting the lead bullet out in such a short time was a luxury. The Noxian military swept over the land faster than a swarm of locusts: by the time Katarina and Crispin broke free from the Zaunite woods, in the wee hours of the morning, the first forward scouts of the military discovered them, and it was only a couple painful hours before they arrived at the core of the Noxian force.

Healing was energy intensive, much like incantations, and only very skilled mages could perform the feat without any additional instruments or sources of power. The High Command's personal healer was one such mage: even without the healing room in the Main Palace there was little to no strain on his face after the process, which only lasted a couple seconds longer than the healing that took place after her incarceration. Still, that didn't mean that Crispin would get a chance to heal his bruises. She could almost see the hope in his eyes flare briefly when they started moving towards the High Command's camp, and how quickly it was extinguished when she ordered him to his company thanking him for his escort.

While getting used to the nagging itch of healed skin, Katarina walked outside and surveyed the edge of Noxus's sword. It was nostalgic and exciting to see the banners stream, to see the ranks of warriors stretch out into the plains. The squads to the companies to the battalions to the regiments, the dim rumble of metal and wheezing of a thousand men and their horses straining against wagons of armor or mechanisms of war. Steampunk engines also chattered and hissed, struggling against the terrain. Katarina could feel the excitement worm its way through her body, filling her stomach with nausea and vigor. As much as she enjoyed the challenge of operations, there was nothing that quickened her blood flowing than the thought of a daylong melee, the tantalizing promise of war.

The summons was almost instantaneous, and Katarina could tell why. The golden banners of Demacia were close, over a couple of hills but close enough for the war to begin today. A normal person would perish at the thought, but Katarina was ready to take part in the bloodshed. She walked happily up into the maze of tents that hosted the various divisions and factions that comprised the fighting forces organized below.

Swain's grey canvass was large but spartan, with a simple map spread out on a single table, marking out the location of the troops and the advance of the army with tokens and figures. Scouts shuttled in and out, explaining any changes in the Demacian's ranks and movements. Various commandants were there, all dressed in battle uniform, ready to lead the troops as their general saw fit. They all had something to say:

"...The Eagle's Claw is but a whetstone, commander. They will collapse quickly to my troops and their defeat will weaken their resolve."

"Too many, Tenal. It'd take too long for axes. Let the spearmen take them out - we will lose fewer men and run them over."

And so it went on, constant pestering, badgering, and attempts at one-upping, until Swain raised his hand, and the two commanders, along with the rest of the tent, became whispers. He made motions on the map, declaring his decision.

"The cavalry of Riss may be positioned here. We engage the Eagle's Claw with shortswords and pyromancers, Shars regiment, and the pressure will make them an easy target for a cavalry charge."

Katarina was busy inspecting the map, getting herself up to speed with the current formation of the Noxian lines and their Demacian counterparts. From a glance Swain's proposed tactic seemed to be a perfectly viable strategy. Cavalry was a hard regiment to move well in a battle, especially with magicians and other forms of bombardment, but Swain's proposition seemed to make sense. The Eagle's Claw was a strong regiment but the most vulnerable of the divisions that made up the Demacian battle lines. Weakening the Claw and subjecting them to a cavalry charge would certainly spell doom to the Demacian's left flank, and likely create an unwinnable scenario for the Demacians. The other commanders seemed to agree, moving on to the next subject after brief mumblings of agreement.

It was strange how Swain commanded. Katarina could still remember the rapturous praise that Darkwill received whenever he outlined a stratagem or presented his criticisms of the battle-plan. Always surrounded by yes-men, all competing for the good graces of the grand general. The quiet, professional atmosphere that Swain conducted was a stark opposite. She didn't know which one she preferred more.

"The Dauntless are too close for Shar's regiment. They'd tear them apart," Darius interjected, stabbing down at the map with a finger to point out the area in question, "The Elite must go there to stop them."

"Objections, Katarina?" Swain askedas he glanced up. Katarina was amused at Swain's level of awareness. Had he assumed she had arrived, or had he sensed her presence?

She spoke over the screeching snicker of Beatrice, who ran amok at the top of the tent.

"The Elite will thrive wherever you put them, General. We can corral the Dauntless and keep them in check."

"No, just the elite," Darius remarked, making Katarina's good humor fester. "Your place ought to be in Riss's calvary or at the edge of the left flank, where you can deal the most damage and ensure the flank's collapse. I will lead the core of the force, and alongside the Crimson Guard will push the Dauntless back."

Katarina's eyes flickered back to the map. The Obsidian Guard was positioned heavily in the right flank, with one detachment partaking in Riss's charge. She could see the victory conditions of the fight, a complete collapse of the western flank to expose the artillery of the Demacian force, but it all hinged on the reliability of the line of scrimmage. If the Demacian army was able to push into the Noxian force, they could pivot and separate the cavalry from the rest of the troops.

"We should lead the front together then. Its strength ensures our victory, and Riss is proficient to do the deed alone."

That was when Riss spoke up, her spear stamping the ground.

"Agreed. The Dagger needn't rely on the guiles of a circus dancer."

Katarina was happy that Riss agreed, less so for the reason. She kept her silence and just smiled awkwardly as she wearily motioned in Riss's direction.

"Then Shar's Burning Edge itself. We already have Darius, his brother and I stationed for the vanguard," Sharon spoke up, not lifting her eyes from the battle lines, "We can't all just cram together, else Demacia's artillery would focus on one position."

"Then relieve yourself of the burden." Katarina replied hotly, staring down Sharon. "You're going to be leading my warriors?"

"No, I will," Darius shot back, his eyes alight with the promise of conflict, "If it pains you, arrive sooner to our meetings. The first get the first pick."

Katarina groaned internally. The idiots were certainly going to fuck everything up if she let things continue this way.

 _Here we go. **Again**._

"This is not the time for experimentation, at such high stakes. Your brother works well in the arena, but at such stakes you throw him into the vanguard? Call me a skeptic. Let him have the fun of fucking the Eagle's Claw with Riss."

"This battle is won, Katarina," Darius flung back, "Where you are deployed on the battlefield makes no difference: We have the Lead Zeppelin from Zaun as aerial support. An artillery platform unrivaled on the battlefield thanks to your antics in Piltover, so the Demacian force will be pummeled into oblivion without an airship of their own."

"It's not a matter of winning the battle, Darius. It's about how smoothly we crush the Demacians. With all due respect, your brother leading the vanguard is hardly a sound strategic decision."

"You question my judgment?" was the incensed response, as Darius began to fume. Draven stood behind him, his egotistical demeanour souring as well.

Swain's eyes looked up from the parchment and focused on Katarina.

"Katarina."

"I feel like I'm being improperly used, general. What good am I riding a horse? What good am I flinging vials of liquid blaze? Count my record. You all know my success against the Dauntless."

"Oh yes, your endless stalemates," Draven announced as he joined the conversation, "How inspiring."

"Stalemates that won battles." Katarina hissed back, "I give my brothers and sisters the freedom to follow the path of battle without having to worry about the Dauntless messing up their victories."

"You give yourself so much credit," Darius, growled, "For someone who just spars with a man for the duration of the battle! As if one foe takes so much effort."

"You underestimate me and Crownguard. If you're so cocksure, let us see a demonstration!" Katarina responded, grinning at the idea as if she had just come up with it. "A standard cutting contest, until first blood. To the victor goes the glory. Prove to yourself that you can handle-"

"A duel is unnecessary," Sharon broke in, her eyes trying hard to hide her opinions, "The battle is heavily in our favor, Katarina in the vanguard or not."

 _Nice try._ Katarina scoffed at Sharon's feeble attempt to diffuse the situation. She wouldn't allow it.

"This is tradition, Sharon dear. If Darius thinks he can make the calls and put Garen in his place, he can prove it to me here and now. A cutting contest sounds like a fine solution to this dispute."

"This will be a laugh," Darius hissed as he wrenched his axe from the grass and walked out towards the flat, grassy commons that lay at the center of the camp.

"Do you approve, general?" Katarina asked quietly, watching Beatrice soar down from the shade of the tent and onto Swain's shoulder.

Swain didn't take long to reach a decision, and his crow fell silent, landing on his shoulder as he spoke.. "You shall fight until my call," Swain announced, standing up from the table and slowly making his way out of the tent, leading the rest of the commanders. Katarina took a moment to bow and left to join Darius.

* * *

Cutting contests had existed in the Noxian army since the beginning of their first campaigns. Not unlike the musical equivalent (a tradition also originating in Noxus, contrary to what Demacian propagandists often wrote), warriors would test one another at the eve of battle. It was used as a way to settle disputes, decide leaders, reach a consensus on what strategy would be implemented. The tradition had changed little, though there were various ways victory was achieved. In the beginning, the contest was often to the death, but as the eras wore on, disarmament, first blood, or a minute bout with popular vote all became methods in which victors were crowned.

For this clash, Swain would both determine when the fight would close and grant victory. Neither of which Katarina was particularly pleased about, but it did not shake her confidence that she was going to win. Taking Darius for a spin would be a fine experience, and learning his fighting tendencies would be useful if she was to kill him in the future.

The news of a cutting contest spread quickly, but quietly. People inched closer to the Grand General's tent in hopes of seeing the newly promoted leader of the Crimson Guard cross blades with the commander of the Standard Army. It was a serious matter, the elite versus the fodder, one of the most bitter rivalries in Noxus. If the rest of the army down the hill knew about this, they would be furiously placing bets. Part of her believed they already had placed bets ahead of time, anticipating the clash.

Katarina brought both of her swords out, in an effortless display of preparation and confidence. It was all for show, and Katarina didn't waste any time trying to read Darius's emotions. Instead her eyes were trained on his right hand, gripping the throat of his axe, attempting to determine the most likely offensive Darius would pull out against her in the first few seconds. The grip suggested that he would attempt to start off with a thrust, to push her away…

 _This will be too easy._

"When you are ready." Swain left the matters of beginning in their own hands.

Darius lurched forward, taking three decisive steps towards Katarina, his arm primed, holding the enormous axe next to his shoulder, and ready to swing or stab. Katarina chose to keep Darius guessing, spinning her sword in her right hand to grip it like a dagger instead of a blade, favoring the stabbing motion. With her other hand, she gave a slack little shrug, trying to egg a reaction out of him.

Darius didn't necessarily take the bait, but he didn't fight passive, either. Instead of attempting to thrust, he brought the ax around in a swing inwards, attempting to keep Katarina at a comfortable distance.

Fat chance: Darius had overestimated her size, and there was ample space underneath his axe to maneuver. Katarina simply ducked the blow, using her low center of gravity to rush forward. Rushing to the heavily-armored Darius, she picked her target wisely, seeing how quickly Darius stopped and reversed the velocity of his weapon and brought his left arm close to his body, anticipating an attack at his core.

All said and done, after the first 5 seconds of the fight, Darius had already lost the reliability of his right shin guard. Katarina bounced up from the ground and resumed skidded to a halt, while Darius twisted around to expect another blow.

"I'm savoring this." Katarina stated matter-of-factly, waspish and daring Darius to rush her. Darius wisely paused, realizing that a piece of armor had come loose thanks to Katarina's bladework. He ripped off his loose armor first, smart to not let Katarina's taunt blind judgement. Darius chose to keep the armor firmly grasped in his arm as he advanced towards her once more, determined to pin her down.

 _He's going to chuck it at me?_

Katarina wasn't impressed with Darius's second offensive either. It was clear that he needed to eliminate her ability to maneuver, but his attempt to out-trade her were to impulsive and ham-fisted. Instead of trying to anticipate or outmaneuver her during an assault, Darius just decided to add another weapon into his arsenal: his loose slab of armor. Brutish.

This time, the axe was aimed low, attempting to rob her of her mobility. It was stupidity, as if Darius had never seen Katarina land on the flat edges of blades and swords. A short hop forward and Katarina found herself coasting on the weapon that was supposed to rend her, with a straight shot towards Darius's face if she wanted too.

But she wouldn't take the bait. She had seen Darius pull back his left arm as he tried to anticipate her movements. The attack came as a straight jab outward (a massive mistake: Garen would have kept it refined and used an inward hook), and Katarina ducked the attack, before grabbing his arm in her hands and using the momentum of his axe and his arm as the pivot to swing upwards and away from danger. As she left, she let her blade run between the gap between the joints of armor, hoping for a cut at his arm but only succeeding at shearing the links between the two metal plates. She landed two meters away, ready for the inevitable charge.

Darius was cunning but already losing patience with Katarina's eelish evasions. He stepped forward and brought his axe above him, using his body as a pivot to try and reach out and catch Katarina during a retreat. The axe easily split the earth in two, but Katarina was not caught in the catastrophe. She had slid to the right side of the swing, maintaining her distance on the same side so that he would be unable to attack with his left hand, exposed and vulnerable to her offensive.

Darius heaved hard, twisting his body to face his opponent, ripping his axe from the earth to swing again. The blade nearly beheaded Katarina as she ducked underneath it, a few wisps of red hair freed into the wind. It was an attempt, but once again Darius had opened himself up, only protected by his left arm for a few precious seconds. One free hand left was not enough: Katarina capitalized once again, diving past his exposed ankle and bringing the edge of her blade against it in full force.

Unfortunately, she wouldn't have been able to cut cleanly through the bone, but the action, not only drawing a fair amount of blood and severely cutting Darius's movement, gave her a hinge to stop her forward momentum right after she cleared Darius's legs. She immediately ditched the blade and leapt up onto his back, safe from his axe and in a severely advantageous position. The bulky spikes that dotted his shoulderguards were plenty intimidating, but an easy grasp for Katarina to climb on. In a moment Katarina was contemplating her choices: whether to ram the blade through his nape, or just go for his neck. Not too hard of course - him dying would be poor form, and she momentarily wished for Swain to just call the contest already and save them both the effort.

Darius's hand gave her an answer to her indecision. He had dropped his shin guard when Katarina got her blade into his leg, and sensing Katarina's weight on his back, attempted to reach back and grasp her. The outstretched palm, although protected by a thick leather glove, was an easy target.

Unfortunately, the leather stuck onto the sword a bit, and Darius was able to catch the blade, flinging it overhead and bringing Katarina with it. With catlike reflexes, Katarina spun to land on her feet, her one blade ready. Its point was dashed with a smidge of blood from Darius's palm.

She gave a snicker as he pulled her blade out of his knee, seeing the blood seep out from the wound.

"Would you mind giving that back?"

Darius's fury was still contained, where normal men would be howling in pain and fury. Katarina had to hand it to his composure, but she knew that regardless of his exterior, Darius was furious. He would swing wildly now.

 _Finally , some fun._

It would be much easier for her to weave close to Darius, but his offensive, although less refined, was arguably much more dangerous with the reckless speed at which he swung his axe. Katarina chose the long term solution, hopping back at first to avoid the more energized attacks, waiting on Darius's strength to weaken with every swing.

But his strength didn't waver. Although the Butcher was haphazard and brutish with his attacks, he had caught Katarina in a constantly retreating pattern, pushing her closer and closer to the shield wall that was now in place. This was a delicate situation, and Katarina had to evade horizontally to avoid being caught in a corner, and unable to simply dash forward to engage Darius in close range.

It was these tricky situations that got Katarina's attention and amusement. Her sister often mocked her for being a cat, constantly playing with her prey.

 _"A cat that has been kicked too many times in the head."_ She remembered Cass' mocking japes.

Katarina almost grinned as she flipped over Darius' next blow, using the open seconds to try and circle around him and force a more exploitable attack. Yes, Cassiopeia was always jealous of how Katarina was able to stare down dangerous creatures and warriors and end up playing around with them, but she had a point highlighting how eagerly Katarina played with fire. Feral monsters and armed fighters were not mice, and taking liberties while dispatching them was a gross display of overconfidence.

Just like now, scampering and taking her time with a furious butcher. She had come closer to Darius, threatening to outmaneuver him once again, and over his shoulder he was aware of the threat. Straining once more, he brought his axe to what was almost like a diagonal punch, robbing her of the chance to duck under his Katarina's sword in his left hand, he was confident that he could skewer her if she chose to take a jump over and attack him head-on.

Which she did, of course. In his determination and eagerness to win, Darius had mistaken Katarina to be a whelp that was afraid of injury. A fatal mistake, she was sure of it.

To block a stab to the face is simple, but most fighters would immediately drop everything they had and use both of their hands to safeguard their precious eyes, delicate lips and priceless ears. Katarina was trained to suppress such instinctual reactions, to the point where the point of a sword could touch the surface of her eye. Rationally, Katarina knew that simply avoiding injury would lead to more trouble down the road: Darius certainly had regained control of his axe, ready to swing, along with her own sword. The only secure way forward was straight ahead.

So Katarina punched at her own sword. Not directly making contact, curbing a bit to let her armguard deflect most of the force as the blade sliced into her upper arm. Her hand suddenly grasping his forearm, she pushed it outwards, ignoring the strange burning sensation creeping up into her shoulder as she stabbed with her left arm between the armor guarding Darius's arm. The links connecting them had severed, so she knew she struck bone when her blade shuddered.

Darius exhaled sharply in pain, and in the most critical moment of the fight, going against everything he had been working up towards, tried to break free. He lifted his wounded leg up from the ground, hoping to repel Katarina.

But nothing really mattered now: Katarina had moved too close for his axe to matter, and his leg was too slow, and his arm was delayed by her injury. It was easy swipe to bring the blade out of Darius's left arm and ram it into his neck.

The cold steel made Darius jerk backwards to avoid the end, stumbling and putting his axe between the two. Katarina had drawn blood for the hell of it, just to further the point, and looked expectantly to Swain, anticipating him to bring an end to this fight. People stepped into the field, and her internal expectations were met. She kept her face solemn and respectful, although mentally she was gloating over how easy it had been.

On the field healing, sans the table, was incredibly painful. The energy surged through the tissues and crammed into the gaps, unlike the suave, refined and efficient process. As the healers attended to the victor and the defeated, she decided to drive the point home, addressing Darius as he slowly staggered to his feet.

"Commander, your ability on the battlefield is commendable, but you lack respect for your opponent. You tried to fight me in a way that made it harder for yourself. Doing that against Crownguard is begging for defeat."

"Katarina," Swain interjected before Darius could retort, stepping in between her and the general, "you have proven your point, and you'll be placed in the vanguard. We can find another place for Draven in the battle lines."

"I will not fail you, General." Katarina said with a fist to her chest and a slight bow. She did not dare to ask for any other favors, satisfied with the victory and inclined to avoid further animosity.

Ducking away from the crowd, she began to make her way to her own tent to discuss things with Talon. Unfortunately, as she broke away from the rabble and made her way across the hillside, there was one more hindrance that had followed.

"Katarina! Nice job in the spar, I saw the tail end of it."

 _Gods, what an idiot._ Was the mental yell that echoed in Katarina's ears. Crispin was a cute little harmless kid, but annoying to _so_ many degrees…

"Yes, thank you. You're not supposed to be here." Katarina addressed him, eager to get away from the annoyance.

"I mean you were right, he swings so fast, I can't believe how you were able to take him down…"

"All in a day's work."

"Would he have died without the he-"

"Crispin, dear," Katarina interrupted tersely at Crispin, turning around to face him while pointing towards the black mass that sat waiting at the bottom of the hill, watching the parade of metal and waiting on the command to make its last decisions, "Get to your brothers. I told you that your presence was no longer needed."

Crispin realized he had taken too much liberty at this point, but still he pushed forward. Katarina's apathy was turning into anger. She could take Darius or Sharon fucking around and making her explain herself, but a tenderfoot like this had no grounds to pester her so.

"Please. I just have one request, a question."

"Ask me after the court martial, then," Katarina smirked, enjoying how quickly his face paled, and fortunately for Crispin her humor won over her fury. She decided to hear him out: Nobody had ordered her presence and she had some time to bleed now that she was done with Swain's meeting. She enjoyed drawing out the prank and see him stutter for protection. "I jest. What is it?"

"You've sparred with me, but I need to know: What are my chances? No lies. Ma'm."

Katarina rolled her eyes at the question. A stupid, pointless question that had no answer.

"Your odds are what you make of them."

"Thats no good of an answer!" Crispin almost whined, pushing further, "Is there anything I'm missing? Anything else I can do?"

"Putting on your platemail, I suppose." Katarina chuckled as she remembered him preparing to ride a charger all the way to Piltover, "Now is not the time for fear or pause, Crispin. Very soon we will engage with the Demacian army: They're just beyond that hill. Just conserve your strength and you'll have a good chance: You did well against the men at the checkpoint, did you not?"

"But that's sparring."

"Very little difference between that and the real thing, if you ask me."

Crispin sagged his shoulders in defeat, not willing to push the subject further.

"Fine, then. Thank you for the advice, _Commander_."

Katarina thought hard for a moment, as he started slumping down the hill towards the men, a child throwing a tantrum born of self-loathing and fear. Even worse was that barbed little farewell he gave her, fueled by an ignorant, self-entitled expectation that she was a friend to him. Her good humor vanished in the face of the lack of respect and discipline. It took a moment to catch him by the shoulder, turn him around, and break his nose with a sharp right hook.

Crispin took the hit dumbly and without protest, hand on the ground.

"Get up. Look at me."

He was slow to respond and so Katarina grabbed him like her father used to handle her: Hand on the throat, thumb on the apple, squeezing hard.

" _Look at me_ ," She spat, accentuating her disappointment, "You know what my father would have done to me for acting like that?"

"No…" Crispin was more humiliated and subdued, blood leaking from his nose, not wanting to resist the Commander of the Crimson Elite but at the same time terrified of who was watching, and what would happen next.

Katarina continued, shaking Crispin by the neck at times to accentuate her points: "You're no Du Couteau, so you won't find out, but let me fill you in on some words of wisdom: If you keep acting so defeated, trudging about like you're some doomed little shit, that's exactly what you're going to be. I can guarantee it. You'll be the first to die, actually. Now look."

He turned to follow her other hand, pointing down at the men and women of war, their armor bright and almost white in the morning sun.

"Look at them go, you see? You want to know the difference between them and everyone up here? _They give up_. For all of their thick armor and heavy swords, every man and woman you see before you will die weak and defeated. I know I can make it through, no matter what I go up against, and I'll fight to the last damn drop because of that. That's the difference from me and the the rest of you rabble. Want to live? _Decide_ to live. Weakness like this, bemoaning your fate and dragging your feet, is inexcusable. And don't you **_ever_** fucking talk to your commanding officer like that again, or I'll gut you where you stand."

She basically booted him down the mountain and stalked off in a grumble. The boy would have to learn-

"Shove off."

Oh, and _now_ he grows a pair. What was _with_ people today?

"Excuse me?"

"You know nothing about it, being trained and groomed for the Elite…"

"Watch your mouth." Katarina quietly warned him.

"I go into the heart of battle for my first test. Tell me about your first battle! How did you fight, were you ever wounded, or where you guarded by a bunch of little-"

One index finger raised, and he fell silent, staring straight into the authority in her eyes, and certainly feeling the knife resting on his shoulder.

"Get moving, soldier."

And for once in his sorry life, Crispin listened to orders and turned tail. As Katarina watched him sulk down the hill, watching his black armor flicker, she came across a rather ingenious scheme. The Crimson Elite would have to wait a little longer: She would try and help Crispin after all.

* * *

"How are the preparations, Sharon?"

The tent of the Obsidian Guard was large and empty, mirroring Swain's, only inhabited by a single chair that Sharon sat on, her armor of oil flickering. The commander's eyes widened then narrowed slightly when she approached, and Sharon was rather subdued with her response.

"Well, Katarina. What brings you here?"

"Your little escort, I'm afraid. Crispin. I question his place under your command. The Obsidian Guard selects from the best, and he is clearly not on par. What-"

"You question one of us, you question all of us." Sharon's second in command responded roughly, interrupting the discussion between the two officers. Katarina made a point to glare at him, having dealt with enough defiance and rule-breaking for the day. Yet, she was delighted to hear his voice. She remembered it well.

"This is a discussion between superiors. Zip it. What unit is he assigned to?"

"The 2nd." Sharon answered, drawing attention away from the insubordinate jackass.

"This is Darius all over again," Katarina groaned out loud, hiding the machinations and thoughts that buzzed in her head, "He's better suited for a simpler role, Sharon. Let him partake in the charge and use a more experienced fighter so that our line of scrimmage is stronger."

 _Will you budge?_

"It's strange for you to insert your opinions now, and not underneath Swain's tent." Sharon returned with an even voice, trying to avoid a straight answer.

Katarina almost grinned. So there was some fight in her.

"I didn't want to bring any unwanted attention to the Obsidian Guard, especially over a single kid's position in your battle-lines. Thank me for that."

"I suppose. Thank you for your…"

"Suppose?" Katarina pressed, not letting Sharon end the argument, "I've personally seen his shortcomings, and I think putting him in the vanguard is a serious oversight. I don't want my- our regiments threatened because of someone else's incompetence."

That subtle barb got under Sharon's skin; her eyes narrowed and nostrils flared.

"Yes, incompetence is all the Crimson Elite see, don't they? If you have a problem with my leadership…"

"I will confront you directly, of course," Katarina responded smoothly, happily prodding at Sharon's patience, "but the matter is about Crispin's place in the battle lines, you see. Consider this as a request for a favor. Won't you consider it?"

Katarina gave a tight smile to accentuate the growing tension between the two division leaders. Sharon's bullish, roughened face seemed completely absconded by shadow thanks to the creases and wrinkles that formed as she frowned up towards Katarina.

"I'll place him somewhere else, Katarina, to soothe your anxiety. To be frank, I consider it rather foolish for you to hold anxiety over such a small details, especially when there are other… _pressing_ matters that need to be addressed. Wouldn't you say?"

Katarina kept smiling and responded with enthusiasm. She knew if she asked, Sharon would refer her to the Demacian Army that was fast approaching as the "pressing matter". But that was obviously not the intent of her words. No matter, Katarina had what she cared for: Sharon was clearly affiliated with Darius, but there was more to their schemes than simple ignorance and disagreement. How easily she let Katarina affect her troop decisions remained to be seen on the battlefield, but her simple accommodation to Katarina's request was much too passive compared to the uppity Obsidian leader that asserted herself at the Council Table. Her passivity today set her apart from Darius's brutish narrow-mindedness, their dis-synchrony a worthy note indeed. Whatever they were planning, Darius was confident in it, while Sharon was trying to hide from her.

One more interesting fact, Sharon's second of command was the one that arrested her and brought her to her knees in the streets of Skull Hill. It brought a warm thought in her head, the possibility that he would be liquidated. Still, too early to jump to conclusions. Much more work ahead of her.

Better to focus on the coming battle.

She met with her troops. The Crimson Elite were commanders and masters of war in their own right, and so it was just some casual commands and the lazy wave of her hand to organize her forces, no need for repetition. For that she owed Talon much, his hard work as her deputy paying dividends. The only aberration to her work was the fact that Cassiopeia wanted to partake in the fight, a request that Katarina denied instantly.

"There are a lot of notable warriors in this engagement, Katarina. Vladimir, Urgot, Singed are all taking part, and even the undead juggernaut may be deployed." Talon stated pointedly.

"Swain is not the commander to flaunt his true strength and use intimidation, and neither shall we," Katarina argued, "Besides, Cassiopeia is more of a liability on the battlefield, with her lack of experience. I care little about whatever powerful magic she wields, and more about how effectively she can make use of it."

Talon took the answer quietly and gracefully, and for once today Katarina didn't have to twist arms or break fingers in order to get what she wanted. Talon left to tell her sister to shove off, leaving her to her own devices, at last.

Katarina was exasperated and satisfied, standing silently at the top of the hill, watching, waiting, until the ranks of Demacian steel crept over the hill, marching straight into battle. Throughout her vigil, the ranks of Noxus fell silent, listening intently to their commanding officers as they spoke their final orders, while the machines of war and various other artilleries found their bearings.

Leaders, captains and lieutenants were probably promising their subordinates glory, exchanging beats on who was going to kill the most Demacian purebreds. They exchanged warm words of friendship and trust, proclaiming their excitement for the triumphant feast that would soon follow. Jokes and jests, rumors of powerful magicians and the decline of the Demacian army ran rampant. All forms of superstition were on display: Blood cultists ran knives down their face, arms, and legs to quicken their pulse, while others kissed a goat and let a wolf sink it's teeth into their arms, hoping to amuse the Kindred and gain their favor.

All of this to bolster their spirits, their resolve and their bloodlust. All meaningless, hopeless attempts to disguise fear, the doubt that festered in their minds. It wasn't new. It happened before every single battle she ever experienced. A league away, the Demacian regulars were doing the very same actions, hoping to push their faithlessness aside. It happened every battle, the miserable masses trying to summon the confidence and will to survive.

Katarina couldn't wait to see it all fall apart.

* * *

End Chapter

-Thanks to Oceanbourne for helping me with the chapter!-


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